Cobble  r  of 

Nimes 


Taylor 


THE  COBBLER  OF  MIMES 


BY 
M.    IMLAY    TAYLOR 

On  the  Red  Staircase.  i2mo  .  .  .  $1.25 
An  Imperial  Lover.  i2mo  ....  1.25 
A  Yankee  Volunteer.  i2mo  .  .  .  1.25 
The  House  of  the  Wizard.  i2mo  .  1.25 
The  Cardinal's  Musketeer.  i2mo  .  1.25 
The  Cobbler  of  Nimes.  i2mo  .  .  1.25 


THE 


COBBLER  OF  NIMES 


BY 


M.    IMLAY    TAYLOR 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.   McCLURG  &   CO. 
1900 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  MCCLURG  &  Co. 

A.D.    IQOO 

All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  THE  BODY  OF  A  DAMNED  PERSON  .     .  7 

II.  THE  SHOP  OF  Two  SHOES       .     .     . .  ,  20 

III.  MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS 31 

IV.  ROSALINE 44 

V.  THE  COBBLER'S  GUEST 52 

VI.  A  MILITARY  SUITOR 64 

VII.  A  STRING  OF  TROUT 75 

VIII.  BABET  VISITS  THE  COBBLER    ....  86 

IX.  CHARLOT  BURNS  A  CANDLE     ....  97 

X.  A  DANGEROUS  SUIT 106 

XI.  FRANCOIS  MAKES  A  PLEDGE  ....  119 

XII.  THE  FINGER  OF  FATE 130 

XIII.  THE  BATTLE  HYMN 140 

XIV.  "AND  ALL  FOR  LOVE" 151 

XV.  THE  TEMPTATION  OF  LE  Bossu   .     .     .  164 

XVI.  A  BRIEF  DELAY 178 

XVII.  M.  DE  BAUDRI'S  TERMS 189 

XVIII.  ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FRIENDS      .     .     .  203 


2133114 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  "MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACTIS!"   ....  213 

XX.  THE  COBBLER'S  FAITH 225 

XXI.  IN  THE  WOODS  OF  ST.  CYR    ....  237 

XXII.  THE  OLD  WINDMILL 249 

XXIII.  THE  COBBLER'S  BARGAIN 260 

XXIV.  "O  DEATH,  WHERE  Is  THY  STING?".  269 
XXV.  THE  SHIP  AT  SEA 275 


The  Cobbler  of  Nimes 
¥ 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   BODY   OF   A   DAMNED   PERSON 

IT  was  the  month  of  June,  1703,  and  about 
noontide  on  the  last  day  of  the  week.  The  fair 
in  the  market-place  at  Nfmes  was  therefore  at 
its  height.  A  juggler  was  swallowing  a  sword 
in  the  midst  of  an  admiring  circle.  Mademoi- 
selle H&o'fse,  the  danseuse,  was  walking  the 
tight-rope  near  at  hand,  and  the  pick-pockets 
were  plying  their  trade  profitably  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  throng.  There  was  a  dancing 
bear,  and  beyond  him  —  a  rival  attraction  —  a 
monkey  in  scarlet  breeches,  with  a  blouse  or 
camisole  over  them.  The  little  creature's  antics 
were  hailed  with  shouts  of  derisive  laughter  and 
cries  of  "  Camisard  !  "  "  Barbet !  "  "  Huguenot !  " 
the  monkey's  little  blouse  being  an  unmistak- 


8  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

able  caricature  of  the  dress  of  the  Camisards. 
It  therefore  behooved  the  wise  to  laugh,  and 
they  did,  and  that  loudly,  —  though  many  a 
heart  was  in  secret  sympathy  with  the  Hugue- 
not rebels  of  the  Ce"  vennes ;  but  were  they  not 
in  Nimes?  And  the  Intendant  Baville  was 
there,  and  the  dragoons  of  King  Louis  XIV. ; 
so  it  was  that  the  monkey  gathered  many  a 
half-crown,  and  sous  and  deniers  in  profusion, 
in  his  little  cap,  and  carried  them  —  chattering 
—  to  the  showman.  It  was  a  motley  throng : 
broad,  red-faced  market-women,  old  crones 
with  bearded  lip  and  toothless  gums,  little 
gamins  of  the  market  with  prematurely  aged 
faces,  countrymen  who  glanced  askance  at  the 
monkey  while  they  laughed,  pretty  peasant 
girls  who  had  sold  their  eggs  and  their  poultry, 
and  come  to  spend  their  newly  acquired  riches 
in  ribbons  and  trinkets,  and  to  have  their  for- 
tunes told  by  the  old  gypsy  in  the  yellow 
pavilion.  Some  strolling  musicians  were  play- 
ing a  popular  air,  two  drunken  men  were  fight- 
ing, and  a  busy  tradesman  was  selling  his  wares 
near  the  entrance  of  a  tent  that  was  manifestly 
the  centre  of  attraction.  It  was  of  white  can- 


THE  BODY  OF  A   DAMNED  PERSON         9 

vas  and  decorated  with  numerous  images  of  the 
devil,  —  a  black  figure  with  horns,  hoofs,  and 
tail,  engaged  in  casting  another  person  into 
the  flames ;  the  whole  being  more  startling  than 
artistic.  At  the  door  of  this  tent  was  a  man 
mounted  on  a  barrel,  and  dressed  fantastically 
in  black,  with  a  repetition  of  the  devils  and 
flames,  in  red  and  yellow,  around  the  edge  of 
his  long  gown,  which  flapped  about  a  pair  of 
thin  legs,  set  squarely  in  the  centre  of  two  long, 
schooner-shaped  feet.  This  person,  whose  face 
was  gross  and  dull  rather  than  malicious,  kept 
calling  his  invitation  and  bowing  low  as  each 
new  visitor  dropped  a  half-crown  into  the  box 
fastened  on  the  front  of  the  barrel  beneath 
his  feet. 

"Messieurs  et  mesdames  !  "  he  cried,  "only 
a  half-crown  to  see  the  body  of  a  damned 
person ! " 

He  raised  his  voice  almost  to  a  scream,  to  be 
heard  in  the  babel  of  tongues ;  he  clapped  his 
hands  to  attract  notice ;  he  swayed  to  and  fro 
on  his  barrel. 

"  Here  is  the  body  of  a  damned  person  ! "  he 
shouted.  "  Dieu  !  what  an  opportunity  for  the 


10  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

good  of  your  soul!  Too  much,  madame?"  he 
said  to  a  fishwife  who  grumbled  at  the  price, 
"too  much!  Tis  a  chance  in  a  thousand! 
The  body  came  from  the  Tour  de  Constance ! 
Madame  will  have  her  money's  worth." 

Madame  went  in,  licking  her  lips  like  a  wolf. 
The  curtain  of  the  tent  swung  to  behind  her. 
A  peasant  lad  followed  her,  hesitating  too  over 
the  half-crown,  but  then  the  spectacle  was  worth . 
money.  A  soldier  followed,  then  a  butcher, 
and  two  stupid-looking  servant-girls,  with  fright- 
ened faces,  but  still  eager  to  see.  Then  there 
was  a  pause,  and  the  showman  began  to  shout 
once  more ;  he  had  need  to,  for  the  bear 
was  performing  with  unusual  vivacity,  and  the 
danseuse  displayed  her  pretty  legs  as  she 
tripped  on  the  rope. 

"  Half  a  crown,  messieurs  et  mesdames,"  cried 
the  man  of  the  black  robe ;  "  half  a  crown  to 
see  a  dead  and  damned  Huguenot !  " 

"  Too  much,  monsieur !  "  said  a  voice  behind 
him. 

He  started  and  looked  back  into  the  face  of 
a  little  hunchbacked  man  who  had  been  watch- 
ing him  curiously. 


THE  BODY  OF  A   DAMNED  PERSON        II 

"  You  are  not  a  good  Catholic,  M.  le  Bossu  !  " 
replied  the  showman,  mocking,  for  the  hunch- 
back wore  a  poor  suit  of  brown  and  a  frayed 
hat. 

"  I  am  a  good  Catholic,"  he  replied  calmly, 
"  but  your  price  is  high  —  't  is  only  a  dead 
Huguenot." 

"  Dame  !  but  live  ones  are  too  plenty,"  re- 
torted the  other,  with  a  loud  laugh.  "  What 
are  you  to  complain?"  he  added  gayly, — 
"  the  hunchback  !  —  le  bossu  !  " 

"  Le  Bossu  —  yes,"  replied  the  hunchback, 
calmly ;  "  that  is  what  men  call  me." 

Again  the  showman  mocked  him,  doffing  his 
cap  and  grinning. 

"Your  Excellency's  name?"  he  demanded. 

The  hunchback  took  no  notice  of  him ;  he 
had  his  hand  in  his  wallet  feeling  for  a  half- 
crown  ;  he  had  determined  to  see  the  damned 
person.  But  the  other  got  his  answer ;  a  little 
gamin  piped  up  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
pointing  his  finger  at  the  cripple. 

"  'T  is  only  Chariot,"  he  said,  "  the  shoemaker 
of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine." 

The  showman  laughed  again. 


12  THE  COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

"  Enter,  Maitre  Savetier  !  "  he  said  derisively, 
"  and  see  the  dead  Huguenot.  Dame  !  but  I 
believe  he  is  one  himself,"  he  added,  under  his 
breath,  peering  sharply  at  the  pale  face  of  le 
Bossu  as  he  entered  the  tent. 

But  a  minute  later  the  hunchback  was  for- 
gotten and  the  showman  was  screaming  again. 

"  This  way,  mesdames !  This  way,  to  see 
a  damned  person !  Half  a  crown !  half  a 
crown !  " 

Within,  the  tent  was  lighted  solely  by  a  small 
aperture  at  the  top,  and  the  effect  was  rather  of 
a  murky  twilight  than  of  broad  noonday.  It 
was  draped  with  cheap  red  cloth,  and  in  the 
centre  —  directly  under  the  opening  in  the 
top  —  was  a  rough  bier  constructed  of  bare 
boards,  and  on  this  lay  a  body  only  partially 
covered  with  a  piece  of  coarse  serge ;  images 
of  the  devil — cut  out  of  black  stuff — were 
sewed  on  the  corners  of  this  wretched  pall. 
The  visitors,  the  sight-seers,  who  had  paid 
their  half-crowns  to  enjoy  this  gruesome  spec- 
tacle, moved  slowly  past  it,  making  the  circuit 
of  the  tent  and  finally  passing  out  at  the  door 
by  which  they  had  entered.  When  the  hunch- 


THE  BODY  OF  A   DAMNED  PERSON        13 

back  came  in,  he  paused  long  enough  to  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  swift  transition  from 
sunlight  to  shadow,  and  then  he  too  proceeded 
to  join  the  circle  around  the  corpse.  There 
were  many  comments  made,  the  sight  affected 
the  spectators  differently.  The  two  servant- 
girls  clung  together,  whispering  hysterical 
confidences;  the  peasant  youth  stared  open- 
mouthed,  fright  showing  plainly  in  his  eyes ; 
the  soldier  looked  down  with  brutal  indifference ; 
the  old  fishwife  showed  satisfaction,  her  wolf 
mouth  was  slightly  opened  by  a  grin  that  dis- 
played three  long  yellow  teeth  —  all  she  pos- 
sessed ;  a  red  handkerchief  was  tied  around  her 
head  and  from  below  it  hung  her  long  gray 
locks.  Her  short  petticoat  and  bodice  revealed 
a  withered,  lean  form,  and  her  fingers  were  like 
talons.  She  feasted  her  eyes  on  the  dead  face, 
and  then  she  squinted  across  the  body  at  the 
man  who  stood  like  a  statue  opposite.  He 
was  young,  with  a  sad,  dark  countenance  and 
was  poorly,  even  shabbily  dressed.  But  it  was 
none  of  these  things  that  the  old  crone  noted, 
it  was  the  expression  of  grief  and  horror  that 
seemed  frozen  on  his  features.  He  did  not 


14  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

see  her,  he  did  not  see  the  others  passing 
by  him  —  with  more  than  one  curious  glance ; 
he  seemed  like  a  man  in  a  trance,  deaf, 
blind,  dumb,  but  yet  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
inanimate  figure  on  the  bier.  It  was  the 
corpse  of  a  young  woman,  who  had  been 
handsome;  the  features  were  still  so,  and  her 
long  black  hair  fell  about  her  shoulders  like  a 
mourning  pall. 

"  Dieu  ! "  said  the  fishwife,  licking  her  lips, 
"  what  a  white  throat  she  had ;  't  would  have 
been  a  pity  to  hang  her.  See,  there  is  a  mark 
there  on  her  arm  where 'twas  bound!  Is  she 
not  pretty,  Bossu  ?  " 

The  hunchback  had  approached  the  corpse, 
and  at  this  appeal  he  nodded  his  head. 

"  Diable  /"  ejaculated  the  soldier  turning  on 
the  old  crone,  "  't  is  heresy  to  call  a  damned 
person  pretty,  Mere  Tigrane." 

Mere  Tigrane  leered  at  him  with  horrible 
intelligence. 

"  No  one  is  to  think  a  heretic  pretty  but  the 
dragoons,  eh?"  she  said  grinning.  " Dame  f  we 
know  what  you  think,  monsieur." 

The  man  laughed  brutally,  and  she  edged  up 


THE  BODY  OF  A   DAMNED  PERSON       15 

to  him,  whispering  in  his  ear,  her  narrow  eyes 
on  the  silent  visitor  opposite.  The  dragoon 
looked  over  too  at  her  words,  and  broke  out 
with  an  oath. 

"  You  are  a  witch,  Mere  Tigrane,"  he  said 
uneasily;  "let  me  alone!" 

Again  she  whispered,  but  laughed  this  time, 
showing  her  yellow  teeth. 

Meanwhile  the  showman  had  been  fortunate 
and  a  dozen  new-comers  crowded  into  the  tent, 
pressing  the  others  aside.  This  afforded  an 
opportunity  for  the  hunchback  to  approach  the 
young  man,  who  had  remained  by  the  bier  as  if 
chained  to  the  ground.  Le  Bossu  touched  his 
arm,  at  first  lightly,  but  finding  himself  un- 
heeded, he  jerked  the  other's  sleeve.  The 
stranger  started  and  stared  at  him  as  if  he 
had  just  awakened  from  sleep. 

"  A  word  with  you,  friend,"  said  the  hunch- 
back, softly. 

The  man  hesitated,  started,  paused  and  cast 
another  long  look  at  the  dead  face,  and  then 
followed  the  cripple  through  the  group  at  the 
door,  out  into  the  sunshine  and  uproar  of  the 
market-place.  They  were  not  unobserved  by 


1 6  THE   COBBLER  OF  NlMES 

Mere  Tigrane,  but  she  made  no  effort  to  follow 
them ;  she  was  watching  the  new  arrivals  as  they 
approached  the  corpse.  As  she  saw  their  faces 
of  curiosity  and  horror,  she  laughed. 

•'  Mere  de  Dieu!"  she  said,  "'tis  worth  a 
half-crown  after  all  —  and  I  paid  Adolphe  in 
false  coin  too,  pauvre  gar$on  !  " 

In  the  market-place,  the  stranger  had  halted 
with  the  hunchbacked  cobbler. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded  of  le 
Bossu  ;  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  You  were  in  danger,"  replied  the  hunchback, 
quietly,  "  and  you  are  in  trouble ;  the  Ion  Dieu 
knows  that  I  also  am  in  trouble." 

The  little  man's  tone,  his  deformity,  his  kind 
eyes  appealed  to  the  other. 

"  We  should  be  friends,"  he  said  grimly. 
"  Dieu  !  I  am  indeed  in  trouble." 

The  hunchback  made  a  sign  to  him  to  be 
cautious,  the  crowd  hemmed  them  in,  the  mon- 
key chattered,  the  bear  danced,  Mademoiselle 
Helo'fse  was  singing  a  savory  song  from  Paris. 
The  whole  square  was  white  with  the  sunshine ; 
above,  the  sky  was  deeply  blue. 

"  Follow  me,  friend,"  said  le  Bossu  again,  and 


THE  BODY  OF  A    DAMNED  PERSON       I/ 

commenced  to  thread  his  way  through  the 
crowd. 

His  new  acquaintance  hesitated  a  moment, 
cast  a  backward  glance  at  the  tent  he  had  just 
quitted,  and  then  quietly  followed  the  hunch- 
back. They  had  to  cross  the  market-place,  and 
the  little  cobbler  seemed  to  be  widely  known. 
Goodwives  greeted  him,  young  girls  giggled 
heartlessly  before  the  misshapen  figure  passed, 
men  nodded  indifferently,  the  maliciously  dis- 
posed children  calling  out "  le  Bossu  !  "  at  him  as 
he  went.  A  heartless  rabble  out  for  a  gala 
day ;  what  pity  had  they  for  the  hunchbacked 
shoemaker  of  the  St.  Antoine?  The  man  who 
followed  him  escaped  notice;  he  was  straight- 
limbed  and  erect,  and  his  shabby  dress  dis- 
guised him  as  completely  as  any  masquerade. 
When  they  had  left  the  crowd  behind,  they 
walked  together,  but  still  silently,  along  the 
thoroughfare. 

The  groups  of  pleasure-seekers  grew  more 
rare  as  they  advanced,  and  they  were  almost 
alone  when  they  passed  the  Garden  of  the  Re"- 
collets  —  the  Franciscan  Convent  —  and  entered 
the  Rue  St.  Antoine.  Here  it  was  that  the 


1 8  THE   COBBLER  OP  NfMES 

stranger  roused  himself  and  addressed  his  com- 
panion. 

"Where  are  we  going?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  To  my  shop,"  replied  le  Bossu ;  "  't  is  but 
ten  yards  ahead  now.  Have  no  fear,"  he  added 
kindly ;  "  the  bon  Dieu  made  me  in  such  shape 
that  my  heart  is  ever  with  the  sorrowful." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  do  not  know  your  name  —  you  do  not  ask 
mine  —  why  do  you  seek  me  out?" 

"  My  name  is  Chariot,"  returned  the  cripple, 
simply.  "  I  make  shoes,  and  they  call  me  by 
more  than  one  name.  My  rich  patrons  say 
Chariot,  my  poor  ones  call  me  le  Savetier,  others 
mock  me  as  the  hunchback  —  le  Bossu  !  It  does 
not  matter.  As  for  your  name,  I  will  know  it 
when  you  please,  monsieur." 

They  had  come  to  an  arched  gateway  be- 
tween two  houses,  and  the  cobbler  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  the  other  man.  They  stood  in  a 
court,  and  on  three  sides  of  it  were  the  faces  of 
three  houses ;  it  was  a  veritable  cul-de-sac.  A 
small  square  of  sunshine  marked  the  centre  of 
the  opening,  and  in  this  a  solitary  weed  had 
bloomed,  springing  up  between  the  crevices  in 


THE  BODY  OF  A   DAMNED  PERSON       19 

the  stone  pavement.  To  the  left  was  an  arched 
door  with  three  steps  leading  to  it,  and  over  it 
hung  a  sign  with  two  shoes  painted  upon  it. 
The  hunchback  pointed  at  this. 

"  Behold  my  shop,"  he  said,  "  the  sign  of  the 
Two  Shoes." 

He  took  a  key  out  of  his  wallet,  and  ascend- 
ing the  steps,  opened  the  door  and  invited  his 
new  acquaintance  to  enter. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   SHOP   OF  TWO   SHOES 

THE  two,  le  Bossu  and  his  guest,  entered  a 
small  room  fitted  up  as  a  shop.  The  window 
was  open  and  across  the  unused  fireplace  were 
suspended  half  a  dozen  shoes  of  various  sizes. 
The  cobbler's  bench  was  strewn  with  tools,  and 
scraps  of  leather  lay  on  the  floor.  On  one  side 
of  the  room  hung  a  hide  prepared  for  use ;  op- 
posite was  a  colored  picture  of  St.  Elizabeth, 
with  her  arms  full  of  roses,  the  patron  saint  of 
the  poor.  There  were  two  wooden  chairs,  the 
cobbler's  stool,  and  a  box  of  sabots,  nothing 
more.  A  door  opened  into  the  kitchen,  where 
a  narrow  flight  of  stairs  —  like  a  ladder  —  as- 
cended to  the  second  story.  On  the  kitchen 
hearth  the  pot-au-feu  was  simmering,  the  sa- 
vory odor  filling  the  room,  and  on  the  table 
was  a  loaf  of  black  bread  and  some  garlic. 

The  hunchback  asked  his  guest  to  be  seated 
and  then  sat  down  himself,  looking  attentively 


THE  SHOP  OF  TWO  SHOES  21 

but  kindly  at  the  new  arrival.  The  stranger 
had  a  strong  face,  although  he  was  still  a  young 
man.  His  complexion  was  a  clear  olive,  and 
his  dark  eyes  were  gloomy  and  even  stern. 
He  wore  no  periwig,  his  natural  hair  curling 
slightly.  In  his  turn,  he  scrutinized  the  cripple, 
and  never  was  there  a  greater  contrast.  Le 
Bossu  was  small,  and  the  hump  on  his  back  made 
him  stoop ;  as  often  occurs  in  such  cases,  the 
upper  part  of  his  body  and  his  head  were  out 
of  proportion  with  his  small  and  shrunken  limbs. 
His  arms  were  long  and  powerful,  however,  his 
hands  well  shaped  and  strong,  though  brown 
and  callous  from  labor,  and  they  were  skilful 
hands,  able  to  earn  a  living  despite  the  feeble 
legs  and  back.  His  face  was  pale  and  drawn 
from  much  physical  suffering,  but  his  eyes  were 
beautiful,  large,  brown,  and  full  of  expression. 
Tjiey  redeemed  the  cripple's  whole  aspect,  as 
though  the  soul  —  looking  out  of  its  windows  — 
made  its  own  appeal.  It  was  his  eye  that  won 
upon  his  new  acquaintance. 

"  You  said  you  wished  to  speak  to  me,"  he 
remarked  abruptly.  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  friend,"  le  Bossu 


22  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

replied  calmly,  "  you  were  showing  too  much 
emotion  yonder;  you  were  observed  by  the 
dragoon  and  Mere  Tigrane.  She  is  a  dan- 
gerous person;  men  call  her  the  she-wolf — 
la  Louve" 

"Too  much  emotion!"  repeated  the  other, 
"  Dien  !  you  seem  an  honest  man  —  shall  I  tell 
you  who  that  dead  woman  was?"  he  asked 
recklessly.  "Are  you  a  Catholic?" 

"I  am,"  replied  the  cobbler,  quietly;  "'tis 
best  to  tell  me  nothing." 

His  visitor  stared  at  him. 

"  Why  did  you  try  to  protect  me,  then  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  am  a  desperate  man  and  un- 
known to  you  —  I  have  no  money  to  reward 
kindness." 

"  Nor  to  pay  for  a  lodging,"  remarked  the 
hunchback. 

The  other  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
drew  out  half  a  crown,  looking  at  it  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"  My  worldly  goods,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  so,"  rejoined  the  cobbler,  dryly, 
"  and  you  paid  the  other  half-crown  to  see  the 
dead  Huguenot  woman." 


THE  SHOP  OF   TWO  SHOES  2$ 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  the  face 
opposite. 

"  I  would  have  paid  more  to  be  sure  that 
it  was  —  "  He  broke  off,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands.  "  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  "  he  exclaimed 
brokenly. 

The  hunchback  was  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
his  arms  folded  and  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"  You  must  leave  Nimes,"  he  said  at  last ; 
"you  will  betray  yourself  here.  Meanwhile, 
there  is  a  room  overhead ;  if  you  wish  you  can 
stay  there,  free  of  rent,  until  you  go." 

"Again,  why  do  you  do  this?"  asked  the 
stranger. 

The  cobbler  indicated  his  hump  with  a  gesture. 

"  The  ban  Dieu  made  me  so,"  he  said  simply ; 
"  yet  I  am  a  scorn  in  the  market-place,  a 
miserable  cripple.  I  swore  to  the  saints  that 
I  would  help  the  miserable." 

"  You  will  take  a  risk,"  remarked  his  com- 
panion, —  "  I  am  Frangois  d'Aguesseau,  a 
Huguenot  — 

"  Hush  !  "  The  cobbler  held  up  his  hand.  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  know,  M.  d'Aguesseau.  If  you 
will  take  the  upper  room,  'tis  yours." 


24  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

"  I  will  take  it  while  I  can  pay  for  it,  at  least," 
said  d'Aguesseau,  "  and  I  thank  you." 

The  hunchback  rose,  leading  the  way  across 
the  kitchen  to  the  stairs.  He  walked  slowly, 
and  occasionally  dragged  one  foot,  but  he 
ascended  the  steps  with  some  agility,  followed 
by  his  guest.  There  was  a  trap-door  at  the 
top,  which  he  opened  before  they  could  step 
on  to  the  floor  above.  D'Aguesseau  knew  that 
he  was  taking  a  great  risk,  that  this  might  be 
a  snare  laid  for  those  of  the  Religion,  but  he 
was,  at  the  moment,  a  desperate  and  reckless 
man,  and  he  cared  little.  He  had  entered 
Nimes  that  morning,  almost  without  money, 
he  had  just  had  his  worst  fears  confirmed, 
and  he  cared  little  now  for  life  or  death. 

They  entered  a  room  above  the  kitchen, 
where  the  cripple  slept,  and  this  opened  into 
another  small  room  over  the  shop.  Both  were 
clean,  though  poor  and  bare.  The  hunchback 
stopped  before  a  shrine  in  his  own  chamber, 
and  lighting  a  taper,  set  it  before  the  Virgin. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  d'Aguesseau  with  a 
strange  glance  from  the  image  to  the  devotee. 

"A    prayer,"   replied    le    Bossu;    "when    I 


THE  SHOP  OF  TWO  SHOES  2$ 

see  danger  I  always  offer  a  prayer  to  our 
Lady." 

The  Huguenot  smiled  contemptuously,  but 
said  no  more,  following  his  host  into  the 
front  room. 

"  It  is  yours,"  said  the  hunchback.  "  You  are 
weary;  lie  down  until  the  pot-au-feu  is  ready, 
and  we  will  sup  together." 

"  I  have  been  in  many  places,"  said  d'Agues- 
seau,  "  and  seen  many  people  —  but  never  one 
like  you  before." 

Le  Bossu  smiled.  "  Yet  —  save  for  the  hump 
—  I  am  as  others,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  hear 
some  one  crossing  the  court,  "  he  added  ;  "  if  any 
one  enters  the  shop,  't  is  best  for  you  to  be  quiet 
up  here.  There  are  some  who  need  not  know  I 
have  a  guest." 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  imperil  your  safety  by 
any  carelessness,"  d'Aguesseau  replied  earnestly, 
casting  a  kindly  glance  at  the  drawn  face. 

"  I  must  go  down,"  said  the  cobbler.  "  Rest 
here  awhile ;  I  will  call  you  to  supper." 

His  guest  thanked  him,  still  much  perplexed 
by  this  unusual  friendliness,  and  stood  watching 
the  hunchback  as  he  went  back  to  the  trap- 


26  THE    COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

door,  and  did  not  withdraw  his  eyes  until  his 
host  disappeared  through  the  opening  in  the 
floor. 

Le  Bossu  heard  footsteps  in  the  shop  as  he 
descended  the  stairs,  and  leaning  forward,  saw 
Mere  Tigrane  in  the  kitchen  door.  Without  a 
word  he  went  back  and  closed  the  trap,  slip- 
ping the  bolt ;  then  he  came  down  to  find  la 
Louve  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Where  are  my  sabots,  Petit  Bossu?"  she  de- 
manded, her  fierce  little  eyes  travelling  around 
the  room,  and  her  lips  very  red.  "  I  came  for 
them  myself,  you  are  so  slow." 

"  You  do  not  need  them,  Mere  Tigrane,"  the 
cobbler  replied  coolly,  eying  her  feet;  "your 
sabots  are  as  good  as  new.  I  did  not  promise 
the  others  until  St.  Bartholomew's  day." 

She  began  to  grumble,  moving  over  to  the 
fire  and  peering  into  the  pot-an-feu. 

"  Dame  !  but  you  live  well,  Chariot,"  she  re- 
marked. "  The  sight  of  the  damned  corpse 
gave  me  also  an  appetite.  Mtre  de  Dieu  !  how 
white  and  tender  her  flesh  was  !  'T  would  have 
made  a  good  pottage,"  she  added  laughing,  her 
yellow  teeth  showing  against  her  blood-red 


THE  SHOP  OF  TWO  SHOES  2? 

tongue  like  the  fangs  of  a  she-wolf —  verily,  she 
merited  her  name. 

"  You  should  arrange  with  Adolphe,"  the 
hunchback  said  coolly.  "  I  will  send  you  your 
sabots  on  Wednesday." 

"  Eh !  but  I  '11  come  for  them,"  she  re- 
plied with  a  wink ;  "  I  love  to  come  to  visit 
you." 

The  cobbler  grunted,  moving  slowly  and  pain- 
fully —  as  he  did  at  times  —  to  the  shop.  But 
Mere  Tigrane  was  reluctant  to  follow  him,  — 
she  was  listening;  she  thought  she  heard  a 
step  overhead. 

"  Chariot,"  she  said  amiably,  "  how  much  do 
you  get  for  your  room  above  ? " 

"  I  do  not  rent  it,"  he  replied  calmly,  but  he 
too  was  listening. 

Happily,  the  sounds  above  ceased. 

"  I  want  it,"  she  remarked  briskly;  "  I  will  pay 
a  good  price  for  it  —  for  my  cousin.  He  is  ap- 
prenticed to  the  blacksmith  behind  the  Garden 
of  the  Recollets.  I  will  look  at  it  now  —  at 
once  —  Petit  Bossu." 

The  cobbler  started,  but  controlled  himself, 
though  la  Louve  had  her  foot  on  the  ladder. 


28  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

She  could  be  swift  when  she  pleased,  and  she 
could  hobble. 

"  It  is  locked  to-day,"  he  said  coolly,  "  and  I 
shall  not  rent  it  now." 

She  grinned,  with  an  evil  look. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  man  chdri?  "  she 
demanded,  shaking  her  cane  at  him  with  sinister 
pleasantry. 

"  The  devil,"  replied  le  Bossu,  sitting  down  to 
his  bench  and  taking  up  a  shoe  and  beginning 
to  stitch. 

"Or  his  wife  —  which?"  la  Louve  asked 
jocosely. 

She  was  satisfied  now  that  the  trap  was  fas- 
tened, and  it  was  not  always  wise  to  offend  the 
cobbler.  She  returned  to  the  shop  with  a  dis- 
satisfied face. 

"  You  have  no  hospitality,"  she  said,  "  you 
dog  of  a  cobbler  —  I  will  come  on  Wednesday 
again  for  the  sabots" 

"  As  you  please,"  he  retorted  indifferently, 
stitching  away. 

"  Diable !  you  sew  like  a  woman,"  she  re- 
marked. "  You  might  better  be  cutting  my 
shoes  out  of  the  good  wood,  that  does 


THE  SHOP  OF  TWO  SHOES  2$ 

not  split,  than  making  those  silly  things  of 
leather !  " 

She  lingered  a  little  longer,  but  still  he  did  not 
heed  her,  and  at  last  she  hobbled  off,  picking 
up  a  basket  of  fish  that  she  had  left  on  the 
doorstep.  But  she  did  not  leave  the  court 
until  she  had  looked  again  and  again  at  the 
upper  window  of  the  shop  of  Two  Shoes.  Yet 
she  saw  nothing  there  but  the  white  curtain 
fluttering  in  the  breeze. 

An  hour  later  she  was  back  at  the  market- 
place, grinning  and  selling  her  fish.  She  was 
in  time  too,  to  hear  the  uproar  when  Adolphe, 
the  showman,  found  the  false  coin  in  his  box. 
She  pushed  to  the  fore,  her  red  handkerchief 
conspicuous  in  the  group,  and  her  sharp  eyes 
recognized  the  country  boy  who  had  followed 
her  in  to  see  the  damned  person.  The  show- 
man was  belching  forth  oaths  and  threats  like 
the  fiery  furnace  that  belched  flames  on 
Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abed-nego.  Mere 
Tigrane's  eyes  gleamed,  and  she  pointed  a 
long,  bony  finger  at  the  poor  lad. 

"  He  put  it  in,  Adolphe,"  she  shrieked,  with 
an  oath.  "  I  saw  him,  the  vagabond  !  " 


30  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

Then  she  laughed  and  shook,  clapping  her 
hands  to  her  sides.  It  was  so  diverting  —  the 
uproar,  and  the  protests  of  the  peasant  boy 
as  he  was  dragged  off  to  jail  with  the  rabble 
at  his  heels. 

"  Dame  !  "  she  said,  "  't  was  worth  a  good  half- 


CHAPTER  III 
MADEMOISELLE'S    SLIPPERS 

THE  first  day  of  the  week  Petit  Bossu  set  his 
house  in  order.  He  swept  the-  floor  of  the 
shop  and  put  a  cold  dinner  on  the  kitchen  table 
that  his  guest  might  eat  in  his  absence.  Then 
he  hung  up  his  apron  and  blouse  and,  putting 
on  his  worn  brown  coat,  slipped  the  leather 
strap  of  his  wallet  over  his  shoulder.  Last  he 
took  a  pair  of  slippers  out  of  a  cupboard  and 
examined  them  with  loving  care  and  honest 
pride  in  their  workmanship.  They  were  small, 
high-heeled,  blue  slippers,  daintily  lined  with 
white  silk,  and  with  rosettes  of  blue  ribbon  on 
the  square  toes.  The  little  cobbler  stroked 
them  tenderly,  fastened  one  bow  more  securely, 
and  putting  them  carefully  in  his  green  bag, 
set  out  on  his  journey.  It  was  early,  and  few 
people  lounged  in  the  streets,  and  le  Bossu 
passed  unheeded  through  the  Rue  St.  Antoine, 
and  went  out  at  last  at  the  Porte  de  France. 


32  THE   COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

His  pace  was  always  slow,  and  to-day  he  limped 
a  little,  but  he  kept  cheerfully  on,  turning  his 
face  toward  St.  Cesaire. 

The  highroad,  white  with  dust,  unrolled  like  a 
ribbon  through  a  rugged  plain  which  lay  south- 
west of  Nimes,  stretching  from  the  low  range 
of  limestone  mountains  —  the  foothills  of  the 
Cevennes —  on  the  north  to  the  salt  marshes 
of  the  Mediterranean  on  the  south.  Rocks 
cropped  up  on  either  side  of  the  road ;  the 
country  was  wild  and  barren-looking,  although 
here  and  there  were  fig  trees  and  vineyards, 
and  farther  west  was  the  fertile  valley  of  the 
Vaunage.  North  of  those  limestone  hills  lay 
the  Cevennes,  where  since  the  Revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  the  poor  Huguenot  peasants 
were  making  their  desperate  fight  for  liberty 
of  conscience,  against  the  might  and  the 
bigotry  of  Louis  XIV.  Their  leader,  Laporte, 
was  dead,  but  he  had  been  succeeded  by  Jean 
Cavalier  and  Roland,  and  revolt  still  raged  in 
the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  upper  Cevennes, 
though  Marechal  Montrevel  and  the  Intendant 
of  Languedoc  assured  the  king  that  they  had 
wiped  out  the  insurrection.  But  the  "  Barbets" 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  33 

or  "  Camisards,"  as  they  were  called  in  derision, 
though  naming  themselves  "Enfants  de  Dieu," 
kept  up  the  fierce  death-struggle.  Meanwhile 
the  city  of  Nimes  was  judiciously  orthodox  in 
the  presence  of  the  dragoons,  and  many 
Huguenots  went  to  mass  rather  than  suffer 
torture  and  death.  Not  every  man  is  made  for 
a  martyr,  and  there  were  terrors  enough  to 
awe  the  most  heroic.  The  bodies  of  Protes- 
tants who  died  in  prison  were  exposed  at  fairs 
for  a  fee,  or  dragged  through  the  streets  on 
hurdles  to  be  burned,  as  a  warning  and  exam- 
ple to  the  misguided  who  still  lived. 

Yet  the  busy  life  of  every  day  went  on ; 
people  Bought  and  sold  and  got  gain;  others 
married  and  made  feasts ;  children  were  born, 
to  be  snatched  from  Huguenot  parents  and 
baptized  into  the  old  religion ;  some  men  died 
and  were  buried,  others  were  cast  from  the 
galleys,  at  Marseilles,  into  the  sea.  Such  was 
life  in  Nimes  in  those  old  days  when  the  sign 
of  Two  Shoes  hung  over  the  humble  shop  on 
the  Rue  St.  Antoine. 

All  this  while  le  Bossu  was  trudging  along 
the  white  road.  He  met  many  country  people 
3 


34  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

now,  bringing  their  vegetables  and  poultry  to 
town,  and  more  than  once  he  was  saluted  with 
the  mocking  cry,  "  Petit  Bossu ! "  He  kept 
steadily  on,  however,  taking  no  heed,  his  face 
pale  from  the  exertion,  or  the  repression  of  his 
natural  temper,  which  resented  insults  and  injury 
more  keenly  than  most  people  of  his  condition, 
in  an  age  when  the  poor  were  as  the  beasts  of 
the  field  to  the  upper  classes.  Many  thoughts 
were  passing  in  the  hunchback's  mind,  but  he 
dwelt  most  upon  the  little  blue  slippers,  and 
when  he  did,  his  brown  eyes  softened,  the  drawn 
expression  on  his  thin  face  relaxed. 

"  The  bon  Dieu  bless  her,"  he  murmured ;  "  to 
her  I  am  not  the  hunchback  or  the  cobbler  — 
to  her  I  am  poor  Chariot,  her  humble  friend. 
del!  I  would  die  for  mademoiselle." 

He  toiled  slowly  on ;  passing  the  village  of  St. 
C^saire,  he  turned  sharply  to  the  north,  and 
walking  through  a  grove  of  olive  trees,  came  in 
sight  of  a  chateau  that  nestled  on  the  crest  of  a 
little  eminence  looking  west  toward  the  Vau- 
nage.  The  sun  shone  on  its  white  walls  and 
sloping  roof,  and  sparkled  on  its  window  panes. 
The  building  was  not  large,  and  it  had  a  long, 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  35 

low  wing  at  one  side,  the  whole  thrown  into 
sharp  relief  by  its  background  of  mulberry  trees. 
The  house  was  partially  closed,  the  wing  show- 
ing green-shuttered  windows,  but  the  main  part 
was  evidently  occupied.  On  the  southern  side 
was  the  garden,  with  high  hedges  of  box,  and 
toward  this  the  cobbler  turned  his  steps.  As 
he  approached  the  wicket  gate,  which  was  set 
in  a  lofty  part  of  the  hedge,  a  dog  began  to  bark 
furiously,  and  a  black  poodle  dashed  toward 
him  as  he  entered,  but  recognizing  the  visitor, 
she  ceased  barking  and  greeted  le  Bossu  with 
every  demonstration  of  friendship. 

"  Ah,  Truffe,"  said  the  cobbler,  gently,  "  where 
is  your  mistress  ?  I  have  brought  her  the  blue 
slippers  at  last." 

As  if  she  understood  the  question,  the  poodle 
turned  and,  wagging  her  tail,  led  the  way  back 
between  two  rows  of  box  toward  the  centre  of 
the  garden.  The  dog  and  the  cobbler  came 
out  into  an  open  circle  well  planted  with  rose 
bushes,  that  grew  in  wild  profusion  around  the 
old  sun-dial.  Here  were  white  roses  and  pink, 
yellow  and  red,  large  and  small ;  and  sweet  and 
fragile  they  looked  in  the  old  garden,  which  was 


36  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

but  poorly  kept  despite  the  neat  hedges.  On  a 
rustic  seat  in  the  midst  of  the  flowers  sat  a 
young  girl,  the  sun  shining  on  her  fair  hair,  and 
tingeing  with  brown  the  red  and  white  of  her 
complexion.  Her  face  and  figure  were  charm- 
ing, and  she  had  almost  the  air  of  a  child,  dressed 
as  she  was  in  white,  her  flaxen  hair  falling  in 
two  long  braids  over  her  shoulders. 

The  dog  began  to  bark  again  at  the  sight  of 
her,  running  to  her  and  back  to  .the  hunchback 
to  announce  the  arrival  of  a  friend.  She  looked 
up  with  a  bright  smile  as  the  cobbler  lifted  his 
cap  and  laid  down  the  green  bag  on  the  seat  at 
her  side. 

"  Ah,  Chariot,  you  have  my  slippers  at  last," 
she  exclaimed  gayly,  her  blue  eyes  full  of  kind- 
ness as  she  greeted  her  humble  visitor. 

"  I  have  them,  Mademoiselle  Rosaline,"  he 
replied,  his  worn  face  lighting  up,  "  and  they  are 
almost  worthy  of  the  feet  that  will  wear  them." 

"  Almost !  "  laughed  mademoiselle,  "  you  are 
a  born  courtier,  Chariot  —  oh,  what  dears  !  " 

Le  Bossu  had  opened  his  bag  and  drawn  out 
the  blue  slippers,  holding  them  up  for  her 
admiration. 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  37 

"  They  are  pretty  enough  for  a  queen !  "  said 
Rosaline,  taking  them  in  her  hands  and  looking 
at  them  critically,  with  her  head  on  one  side. 

"  Oh,  Chariot,  I  shall  never  forgive  you  if 
they  do  not  fit !  " 

"  They  will  fit  like  gloves,  mademoiselle," 
the  shoemaker  replied  complacently ;"  let  me 
try  them  on  for  you." 

But  she  was  not  yet  done  with  her  examina- 
tion. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  pattern  for  the 
rosettes?"  she  asked  eagerly;  "truly,  they  are 
the  prettiest  I  have  seen." 

"  I  copied  them  after  a  pair  from  Paris, 
mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  as  pleased  as  she  at 
his  own  success.  "  The  heels  too  are  just  like 
those  worn  at  Versailles." 

Mademoiselle  Rosaline  laughed  softly. 

"  I  told  you  that  you  were  a  courtier,  Char- 
lot,"  she  said  ;  "  but  they  say  that  the  king  wears 
high  red  heels,  because  he  is  not  tall." 

"  But  red  heels  would  not  please  mademoi- 
selle on  blue  shoes,"  remarked  the  hunchback, 
smiling. 

"  But,  Chariot,"  said  she,  with  a  mischievous 


38  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

gleam  of  fun  in  her  eyes,  "  if  we  must  all  be  of 
the  king's  religion,  must  we  not  all  also  wear 
his  red  heels?  " 

The  cobbler's  pale  face  grew  sad  again. 

"  Alas,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh, 
"to  you  'tis  a  jest,  but  to  some  — "  he  shook 
his  head  gravely,  looking  down  at  the  little 
blue  slippers  in  her  lap. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked  quickly,  the 
smile  dying  on  her  lips.  "  Have  they  —  been 
burning  any  one  lately  in  Nimes?" 

"  Nay,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  kneeling  on 
one  knee  in  the  gravel  path,  and  taking  the  slip- 
pers off  her  small  feet  to  try  on  the  new  ones. 

"Come,  come,  Chariot  —  tell  me,"  persisted 
his  patroness,  scarcely  heeding  the  shoe  that 
he  was  drawing  on  her  right  foot.  "  You  are 
as  solemn  as  an  owl  this  morning." 

"  I  will  tell  mademoiselle,"  he  rejoined,  rever- 
ently arranging  the  rosette  and  smoothing  the 
white  silk  stocking  around  the  slender  ankle. 
"  Then  she  must  not  blame  me  if  she  is  horri- 
fied." 

"  She  is  often  horrified,"  interrupted  Rosaline, 
with  a  soft  little  laugh.  "  Go  on,  Chariot." 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  39 

"  There  was  a  fair  on  Saturday  —  mademoi- 
selle knows,  for  I  saw  Babet  there  buying  a  silk 
handkerchief —  " 

"  Babet  cannot  stay  away  from  a  fair  for  her 
life,"  mademoiselle  interpolated  again. 

"  'Twas  a  very  fine  fair,"  continued  le  Bossu, 
putting  on  the  other  slipper.  "There  were 
many  attractions,  and  the  jailer  —  Zenon —  had 
the  body  of  a  damned  woman  there ;  Adolphe, 
the  showman,  exhibited  it  for  half  a  crown. 
She,  the  dead  woman,  was,  they  say,  one  of 
the  Huguenot  prisoners  from  the  Tour  de  Con- 
stance, and  she  died  on  her  way  here ;  she  was 
to  be  examined  by  M.  de  Baville  for  some 
reason,  —  what,  I  know  not,  —  but  she  died 
on  the  road,  and  Zenon  made  much  by  the 
exhibition." 

Rosaline  shuddered,  the  color  fading  from  her 
cheeks. 

"  And  you  went  to  see  that  horrible,  wicked 
spectacle,  Chariot?"  she  demanded,  in  open 
disgust. 

"  Mademoiselle  knows  I  am  a  good  Catholic," 
replied  the  cobbler,  meekly,  his  eyes  drooping 
before  her  look  of  disdain.  "  'T  is  done  for 


4O  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

the  good  of  our  souls  —  to  show  us  the  fate 
of  these  misguided  people." 

"  Man  Dieu  !  "  ejaculated  mademoiselle,  softly. 

Silence  fell  between  them  unbroken  save  by 
the  soft  sounds  of  summer,  the  humming  of  the 
honey-bees,  the  murmur  of  the  mulberry  leaves 
stirred  by  a  light  wind.  Mademoiselle  sat  look- 
ing vacantly  at  her  new  slippers,  while  the  shoe- 
maker still  knelt  on  one  knee  watching  her  face 
with  that  pathetic  expression  in  his  eyes  that 
we  see  only  in  the  look  of  sufferers. 

"  That  was  not  all  I  saw  at  the  fair,"  he  went 
on  at  last.  "  In  the  tent  there  was  also  —  " 

Rosaline  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  I  will  hear  no  more  !  "  she  cried  indignantly. 

"  This  will  not  horrify  you,  mademoiselle,"  he 
replied  gently ;  "  't  is  only  the  story  of  my  new 
guest." 

Her  face  relaxed,  partly  because  she  saw  that 
she  had  hurt  the  hunchback's  feelings. 

"  Well,  you  may  tell  me,"  she  said  reluctantly. 

"There  was  a  young  man  there  —  in  that 
tent  —  Nay,  mademoiselle,  I  will  say  nothing 
more  of  it."  Le  Bossu  broke  off,  and  then  went 
on  carefully :  "  He  was  in  great  anguish,  and 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  41 

I  saw  that  he  was  watched  by  a  wicked  old 
woman  and  one  of  the  dragoons.  I  got  him 
away  to  my  house,  and  there  I  found  he  had 
no  money,  except  one  piece,  and  was  in  great 
trouble.  He  is  — "  the  cobbler  looked  about 
keenly  at  the  hedges,  then  he  lowered  his  voice, 
"  a  Huguenot." 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  him?"  Rosaline 
demanded  eagerly. 

"  He  is  in  my  upper  room  now,"  replied  the 
hunchback,  "  but  I  do  not  know  where  he  will 
go.  He  is  not  safe  in  Nimes.  I  think  he  wants 
to  join  the  Barbets,  but,  of  course,  he  tells 
me  nothing.  He  is  a  gentleman,  mademoiselle, 
le  Bossu  knows,  and  very  poor,  like  many  of 
the  Huguenots,  and  proud.  I  know  no  more, 
except  that  he  was  reckless  enough  to  tell 
me  his  name." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  all  interest  now,  and 
more  than  ever  forgetful  of  her  new  slippers. 

"  Francois  d'Aguesseau,"  he  answered,  in  an 
undertone,  with  another  cautious  glance  behind 
him. 

"  'T  is  all  very  strange,"  remarked  mademoi- 
selle, regarding  the  worn  face  thoughtfully. 


42  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  You  are  a  good  Catholic,  Chariot,  yet  you 
imperil  yourself  to  shelter  a  Huguenot." 

"  The  risk  to  me  is  very  little,"  he  replied 
with  great  simplicity.  "  I  am  too  humble  for 
M.  de  Baville,  and  how  could  I  give  him  up? 
He  is  a  kind  young  man,  and  in  trouble ;  ah, 
mademoiselle,  I  also  have  had  troubles.  May 
the  ban  Dieu  forgive  me  if  I  do  wrong." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  do  wrong,  Chariot,"  she 
said  gently,  "  and  I  am  sure  the  bon  Dieu  for- 
gives you;  but  M.  de  Baville  will  not." 

"  I  can  die  but  once,  mademoiselle,"  he 
rejoined  smiling. 

"Why  is  it  you  always  smile  at  death?" 
she  asked. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  you  are  not  as  I  am,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Death  to  me  —  the  gates  of 
Paradise  stand  open  — suffering  over  —  poverty 
no  more !  " 

Tears  gathered  in  Rosaline's  blue  eyes. 

"  Do  you  suffer  much  now?"  she  asked. 

"  Nearly  always,"  he  replied. 

Again  there  was  a  painful  silence.  Then  le 
Bossu  recollected  the  slippers  and  rearranged 
the  rosettes. 


MADEMOISELLE'S  SLIPPERS  43 

"  They  fit  like  gloves,  mademoiselle,"  he  said 
calmly,  "  do  they  give  you  comfort?  " 

The  girl  roused  herself. 

"They  are  beautiful,  Chariot,"  she  replied, 
standing  up  and  pacing  to  and  fro  before  the 
bench,  to  try  them.  "  They  do  not  even  feel 
like  new  shoes.  You  are  a  magician." 

She  had  lifted  her  white  skirts  to  show  the 
two  little  blue  feet.  Le  Bossu  stood  up  too, 
admiring  not  only  the  slippers,  but  the  beauti- 
ful face  and  the  golden  hair,  as  fair  as  the  sun- 
shine. Even  Trufife,  the  poodle,  danced  about 
in  open  approval.  Then  they  heard  a  sharp 
voice  from  the  direction  of  the  house. 

"Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle  Rosaline!"  it 
called;  "the  dinner  grows  cold,  and  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr  is  waiting.  Viens  done!" 

"  Poor  Babet !  "  laughed  Rosaline  ;  "  I  am  her 
torment.  Come  to  the  house,  Chariot ;  she  will 
have  a  dinner  for  you  also,  and  grandmother 
will  be  delighted  with  these  beautiful  slippers. 
Come,  Truffe,  you  at  least  are  hungry,  you 
little  gourmande" 


CHAPTER   IV 

ROSALINE 

THE  sun  shone  cheerfully  in  the  dining-room 
of  the  chateau.  The  long  windows  were  open, 
and  the  soft  June  air  came  in,  laden  with  the 
sweetness  of  the  garden.  The  room  was  of 
moderate  size  and  furnished  with  perfect  sim- 
plicity, the  polished  dark  wood  floor  being  bare 
of  rugs.  In  the  corner  was  a  tall  clock  with  a 
silver  dial,  wherein  were  set  the  sun,  moon,  and 
stars,  moving  in  unison  with  the  hands.  On  the 
sideboard  were  a  few  pieces  of  silver  that  dated 
back  to  the  days  of  Francis  I.  The  table,  cov- 
ered with  a  fair  linen  cloth,  was  set  for  two,  a 
glass  bowl  full  of  pansies  in  the  centre.  Rosa- 
line sat  at  one  end  and  at  the  other  was  her 
grandmother,  Madame  de  St.  Cyr.  Between 
them  was  Truffe,  the  poodle,  sitting  solemnly, 
with  a  napkin  tied  about  her  neck,  and  turning 
her  black  face  from  one  to  the  other  in  eager 
but  subdued  anticipation. 


ROSALINE  45 

Madame  de  St.  Cyr  was  an  old  gentlewoman 
with  a  handsome,  delicate  face  and  the  blue 
eyes  of  her  granddaughter;  her  hair  had  the 
whiteness  of  snow  and  there  were  lines  of  age 
and  suffering  about  her  mouth.  She  wore  a 
plain  gown  of  black  silk  with  a  fall  of  lace  at 
the  throat,  and  a  lace  cap  on  her  head,  and  her 
thin  white  hands  showed  the  blue  veins  like 
whip-cords,  but  they  were  slender  and  graceful 
hands,  with  tapering  fingers  and  delicate  wrists. 

The  two  women  were  alone ;  their  only  ser- 
vant, the  woman  Babet,  was  in  the  kitchen,  set- 
ting out  a  dinner  for  the  cobbler,  and  they 
could  hear  the  murmur  of  her  voice  as  she  lec- 
tured him.  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  was  listening 
to  Rosaline  with  a  troubled  face. 

"  Ah,  grand' mtre,  can  we  not  help  him?  "  the 
girl  said  earnestly.  "  Think  of  his  desolate  sit- 
uation." 

"  We  are  poor,  Rosaline,"  the  old  woman  re- 
plied gently,  "  and  helpless.  Moreover,  if  our 
religion  were  suspected  the  bon  Dieu  only  knows 
what  would  happen.  I  am  too  old  to  hide  away 
in  the  caves  of  the  CeVennes !  Nor  is  it  clear 
that  it  is  my  duty  to  help  this  fellow  religion- 


46  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

ist  if  by  so  doing  I  put  you  in  danger.  Ah, 
my  child,  for  you  it  would  be  the  Tour  de  Con- 
stance —  or  worse  !  " 

Rosaline  was  feeding  some  morsels  to  Truffe 
with  perfect  composure. 

"  I  have  never  been  afraid,  grand'mh'e,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  hate  to  live  a  lie  —  but  I  know  you 
are  wise.  Yet,  oh,  madame,  think  of  this  Hu- 
guenot in  Nimes !  " 

"What  did  Chariot  call  him?"  her  grand- 
mother asked  thoughtfully.  "  I  thought  the 
name  was  familiar." 

"  He  said  'twas  Francois  d'Aguesseau." 

Madame  de  St.  Cyr  sat  a  moment  silent,  try- 
ing to  gather  her  recollections  in  shape,  then 
her  memory  suddenly  helped  her. 

"  Certainly  I  know,"  she  said ;  "  they  are  from 
Dauphine.  He  must  be  the  son  of  Sieur 
d'Aguesseau  who  was  broken  on  the  wheel  at 
Montpellier  in  '99.  I  remember  now  very  well ; 
he  had  a  son  and  a  daughter,  and  I  did  hear 
that  she  was  carried  away  to  the  Tour  de  Con- 
stance. It  must  have  been  the  same  young 
woman  whose  corpse  was  exhibited  on  Saturday 
at  Nimes.  The  song  is  true,"  she  added  sadly : 


ROSALINE  47 

"  '  Nos  filles  dans  les  monasteres, 

Nos  prisonniers  dans  les  cachots, 
Nos  martyrs  dont  le  sang  se  rdpand  a  grands  flots, 

Nos  confesseurs  sur  les  galeres, 

Nos  malades  perse'cute's, 
Nos  mourants  exposes  a  plus  d'une  furie, 

Nos  morts  trained  a  la  voierie, 

Te  disent  (6  Dieu  !)  nos  calamit^s.' " 

"  What  a  terrible  story  of  sorrow  it  is  !  "  re- 
marked Rosaline ;  "  and  to  think  that  the  corpse 
of  a  gentlewoman  should  be  exposed  in  the 
market-place !  Man  Dieu!  I  wonder  if  mine 
will  be !  " 

Madame  put  up  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of 
horror. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said,  with  white  lips,  "  I  cannot 
bear  it." 

Rosaline  was  contrite  in  a  moment. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  grand'mhe"  she  said 
sweetly ;  "  you  and  I  have  lived  so  long  the  life 
of  concealed  Huguenots,  treading  on  the  edge 
of  the  volcano,  that  I  grow  careless  in  speech." 

"  But  do  you  not  see  why  I  am  so  reluctant 
to  take  a  risk?"  her  grandmother  asked.  "Yet 
I  know  that  this  Francois  d'Aguesseau  is  related 
to  me  through  his  mother.  I  remember  now 


48  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

who  she  was,  and  it  seems  that  I  must  do  what 
I  can." 

Her  granddaughter's  face  lighted.  "That  is 
like  you,  madame,"  she  said  brightly;  "we 
could  not  believe  she  would  turn  a  deaf  ear, 
could  we,  Truffe?  Ah,  you  petite  gourmande, 
have  I  not  given  you  enough?" 

The  older  woman  watched  the  girl  fondly  as 
she  fed  and  petted  the  dog.  This  granddaughter 
was  her  last  link  with  the  world.  Her  son, 
the  Comte  de  St.  Cyr  had  fallen  fighting  for 
the  king  the  year  before  the  Revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes,  when  Rosaline  was  only  three 
months  old.  His  wife  survived  him  only  two 
years,  and  the  grandmother  brought  up  the 
child.  They  had  never  been  rich,  and  the  estate 
had  suffered  under  madame's  management,  for 
she  was  always  cheated  and  robbed,  being  as 
unworldly  as  a  woman  could  be  who  had  seen 
something  of  the  gay  life  of  her  day.  Her 
mind  now  was  full  of  the  guest  of  le  Bossu, 
and  she  was  troubled. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  we  can  do,  Rosaline," 
she  said  in  evident  perplexity;  "he  can  come 
here,  of  course,  and  share  our  crust,  if  he 


ROSALINE  49 

will,  but  a  guest,  and  an  unknown  one,  would 
excite  comment;   and  there  is  M.  de  Baudri." 

Rosaline  made  a  grimace.  "  I  wish  M.  de 
Baudri  would  stay  with  his  dragoons  in  Nimes," 
she  retorted.  "  But,  grand1  mhvt  there  must  be 
a  way.  Let  us  think  and  think,  until  we  find  it." 

"  I  cannot  understand  Chariot,"  remarked 
Madame,  meditatively.  "  We  know  he  is  a  de- 
vout Romanist,  yet  this  is  not  the  first  time 
I  have  known  him  to  help  the  persecuted." 

"  He  is  the  strangest  little  man  in  the  world," 
replied  Rosaline,  "  and  I  believe  that  his  heart 
is  as  big  as  his  poor  misshapen  body.  He  is 
strangely  refined  too,  for  his  condition  in  life. 
Poor  little  Chariot !  " 

"Do  you  think  he  suspects  our  religion?" 
madame  asked  anxiously. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  her  granddaughter  replied 
slowly,  "  but  sometimes  I  think  so." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  murmured  the  old  woman,  with 
a  sigh ;  "  the  axe  hangs  over  our  heads." 

Rosaline  looked  up  surprised. 

"Surely  you  do  not  fear  Chariot?"  she  ex- 
claimed.    "Chariot! — why,  he  would  no  more 
betray  us  than  would  old  Babet." 
4 


5<D  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  Babet  is  of  the  Religion ;  I  trust  no  one 
else,"  returned  Madame  de  St.  Cyr,  gravely. 

"I  do,"  replied  Rosaline  calmly;  "I  trust 
Chariot  and  Pere  Ambroise." 

"  In  a  way,  we  are  in  Pere  Ambroise's  hands," 
her  grandmother  replied,  "  and  I  do  not  believe 
he  would  betray  you ;  he  means  instead  to 
convert  you.  As  for  me,  I  am  too  near  death 
to  trouble  him." 

"  You  do  him  an  injustice,"  retorted  Rosaline ; 
and  then  she  smiled.  "  The  good  father  is 
naturally  kind,  —  he  cannot  help  it;  he  is  so 
round  and  sleek  that  he  rolls  through  the  world 
as  easily  as  a  ball.  To  strike  anything  violently 
would  make  him  bounce  uncomfortably,  so  dear 
old  Pere  Ambroise  rolls  blandly  on.  I  should 
weep  indeed  if  the  naughty  Camisards  caught 
the  kind  soul  and  harmed  him.  I  can  see  him, 
though,  trying  to  run  away,  with  his  round  eyes 
starting  and  his  fat  cheeks  quivering  like  Babet's 
moulds  of  jelly;  and  how  short  his  breath  would 
come !  Mon  p£re  is  my  friend,  so  do  not  find 
fault  with  him,  grand  'm£re,  even  when  he  tries 
to  convert  me,  —  pretending  all  the  while  that 
he  believes  me  to  be  one  of  his  flock !  " 


ROSALINE  5 1 

Madame  de  St.  Cyr  laughed  a  little  at  the 
picture  the  girl  drew  of  Pere  Ambroise,  but  the 
laugh  died  in  a  sigh.  She  had  all  the  misgiv- 
ings, the  faint-heartedness  of  age,  while  Rosa- 
line was  as  full  of  life  and  spirits  as  a  child,  and 
as  thoughtless  of  the  dreadful  fate  that  might 
any  day  overtake  her.  She  laughed  now  and 
told  Truffe  to  beg  for  a  tart,  and  then  scolded 
the  poodle  for  eating  sweets,  all  the  while  mak- 
ing a  picture  of  youthful  loveliness  that  made 
the  old  room  bright  with  hope  and  joy.  The 
finger  of  fate  had  not  yet  been  laid  on  Rosa- 
line's heart ;  she  knew  neither  love  nor  fear. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  COBBLER'S  GUEST 

IN  the  upper  room  of  the  shop  of  Two  Shoes 
sat  a  desperate  man.  The  sun  did  not  shine 
for  Francois  d'Aguesseau,  and  in  the  little  court 
off  the  Rue  St.  Antoine  there  were  no  honey 
bees  to  fill  the  June  air  with  their  cheerful  hum, 
and  no  flowers  except  the  blooming  weed  that 
had  sprung  up  between  the  flagstones.  The 
good  woman  in  the  house  opposite  had  a  couple 
of  children,  who  were  playing  on  her  doorstep  ; 
the  sign  of  the  Two  Shoes  squeaked  a  little  as 
it  swung  in  the  gentle  breeze ;  these  were  the 
only  sounds,  though  the  busy  life  of  Nimes  was 
flowing  through  the  thoroughfare  at  the  mouth 
of  the  court.  But  the  Huguenot  considered 
none  of  these  things.  He  sat  alone  in  the  cob- 
bler's house,  his  elbows  leaning  on  the  table 
before  him,  his  head  on  his  hands.  His  body 
was  in  Nimes,  but  his  soul  was  away  in  Dau- 
phine.  When  he  closed  his  eyes  he  saw  the 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  53 

valley  of  the  Durance  and  the  old  town  of 
Embrun,  where  his  childish  feet  had  made  so 
many  journeys  that  he  might  look  up  in  wonder 
at  the  Tour  Brune  or  rest  in  the  parvis  of  the 
Cathedral,  —  for  his  family  had  not  always  been 
Protestants.  Then  he  saw  in  his  vision  the 
chateau  near  Embrun  where  he  was  born,  and 
the  terrace  where  he  and  his  sister  Helene  had 
played  together, — the  same  Helene  whose  body 
lay  exposed  at  the  bazar  on  Saturday.  She 
was  only  a  woman,  but  she  had  died  for  her 
religion  and  he  had  escaped ;  through  no  fault 
of  his,  though,  for  he  had  been  reckless  enough 
of  life  in  his  efforts  to  rescue  her.  He  had 
tried  to  move  heaven  and  earth  for  her,  and 
had  not  even  obtained  a  hearing  in  Paris. 
Fate,  the  inexorable,  had  closed  every  avenue 
of  mercy ;  the  young  and  innocent  woman  had 
languished  in  the  pestilential  atmosphere  of  the 
Tour  de  Constance,  had  died  at  last  to  be  sub- 
jected to  degradation  after  death  by  her  un- 
merciful jailers.  It  was  over  at  last,  her  body 
had  been  publicly  burned,  and  there  remained 
no  longer  any  reason  for  him  to  linger  in  Nimes. 
His  mother,  dying  of  a  broken  heart  over  the 


54  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

fates  of  husband  and  daughter,  had  made 
him  solemnly  promise  to  leave  France  forever. 
In  England  he  would  find  relatives,  and  there 
too  his  father  had  wisely  invested  a  small  sum 
of  money  against  the  evil  day  when  they 
might  have  to  quit  Dauphine.  Therefore 
Francois  was  not  quite  penniless,  though  the 
State  had  comfortably  seized  all  his  lands  and 
his  goods.  But  he  was,  at  the  moment,  without 
money  or  means  of  communicating  with  his 
English  friends.  The  Huguenots  were  closely 
watched,  and  it  was  no  light  thing  to  escape. 
Moreover,  he  longed  to  strike  a  blow  for  his  re- 
ligion, for  liberty,  before  he  left  his  native  land. 
His  promise  bound  him,  yet  could  he  not  linger 
long  enough  to  serve  the  cause  in  some  way? 
A  strange  fascination  held  him  in  Nimes  where 
he  had  suffered  so  much ;  not  only  did  he  lack 
money  to  pay  his  way  to  the  sea-coast,  but  he 
lacked  also  the  desire  to  go.  Languedoc  had 
been  fatal  to  two  of  his  family,  yet  he  lingered, 
casting  his  eyes  toward  the  CeVennes.  Ah,  to 
strike  a  good  blow  to  revenge  his  father  and 
sister !  He  was  no  saint,  and  in  the  upper 
room  over  the  shop  he  ground  his  teeth  in  his 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  55 

rage  and  despair.  Dieu!  had  he  not  seen  the 
body  of  his  innocent  sister  exhibited  for  half 
a  crown?  the  body  of  his  father  broken  on  the 
wheel  at  Montpellier?  He  thought  with  grim 
satisfaction  of  the  terrible  death  of  the  arch- 
priest  Du  Chayla  at  Pont-de-Montvert  in  '72. 
The  enraged  peasantry  of  the  surrounding 
country,  having  endured  terrible  persecutions  at 
the  hands  of  the  archpriest,  rose  and  attacking 
his  house  in  the  night  slew  him  with  fifty-two 
blows.  D'Aguesseau  recalled  the  circumstance 
now  and  thought  of  de  Baville  the  Intendant  of 
Languedoc,  and  of  Montrevel,  who  was  directing 
the  army  in  its  efforts  to  crush  the  Camisards. 
But  the  young  Huguenot  did  not  come  of  the 
blood  of  assassins.  Doubtless,  it  would  be  a 
service  to  his  religion  to  strike  down  either  of 
these  men,  and  die  for  it  afterwards,  but  he  was 
not  made  to  creep  upon  a  victim  in  the  dark  or 
lie  in  wait  for  him  at  some  unexpected  moment. 
He  could  join  Cavalier  or  Roland,  but  he  could 
not  do  the  murderer's  work  in  Nimes,  though 
his  soul  was  darkened  by  his  afflictions. 

He  reflected,  too,  on  the  kindness  of  the  shoe- 
maker.     He  had  recklessly  placed   himself  at 


56  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

the  hunchback's  mercy,  yet  no  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  his  admission.  It  was  a  crime  to 
conceal  or  shelter  a  Huguenot,  yet  the  humble 
little  cobbler  showed  no  fear,  but  courageously 
offered  his  friendship  to  a  proscribed  criminal, 
—  for  it  was  criminal  to  be  of  any  religion  ex- 
cept the  king's.  The  charity  of  the  poor  cripple 
softened  d'Aguesseau's  heart ;  he  suppressed  his 
sneer  when  he  saw  the  taper  burning  in  front  of 
the  Virgin.  It  was  Romish  idolatry,  he  said  to 
himself,  but  the  idolater  was  also  a  Christian. 
Nor  would  he  be  a  charge  upon  the  kind  shoe- 
maker ;  he  had  been  now  two  nights  and  nearly 
two  days  his  guest,  and  he  must  relieve  him  of 
such  a  burden.  He  could  repay  him  if  he  ever 
reached  England,  but  he  cared  little  whether  he 
reached  it  or  not.  His  enforced  idleness,  too, 
wrought  upon  him ;  he  was  a  strong,  active 
man,  and  he  could  not  endure  this  sitting  still 
and  waiting  an  opportunity.  He  had  been 
brought  up  for  the  army,  but  no  Huguenots 
were  wanted  in  the  army,  and  he  had  not  the 
instinct  of  a  merchant.  He  intended  to  go  to 
England  or  Holland  and  enter  the  service  of 
one  State  or  the  other.  But  first  —  while  he 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  57 

was  waiting  for  the  chance  to  quit  the  country 
—  why  not  go  into  the  Cevennes?  The  tempta- 
tion was  upon  him  and  he  well-nigh  forgot  his 
pledge  to  quit  France. 

As  the  afternoon  advanced,  he  left  the  little 
room  over  the  shop  and  descended  into  the 
kitchen.  He  did  not  eat  the  dinner  that  le 
Bossu  had  set  out  for  him ;  he  had  gone  fasting 
too  often  of  late  to  feel  the  loss  of  regular  meals, 
and  he  could  not  eat  with  relish  food  for  which  he 
could  not  pay.  He  went  out  through  the  shop, 
creating  no  little  excitement  in  the  neighbor- 
ing houses  as  he  crossed  the  court  and  entered 
the  Rue  St.  Antoine.  He  had  been  closely 
housed  since  Saturday,  and  freedom  was  sweet. 
He  stood  a  moment  looking  about  at  the  groups 
of  chattering  townspeople,  and  then  he  turned 
his  steps  toward  the  Garden  of  the  Recollets. 
It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  and  the  shadows  were 
lengthening  on  the  west  side  of  the  streets,  and 
he  heard  the  church  bells  ringing  as  though 
there  were  peace  and  good-will  on  earth.  A 
rag-picker  was  at  work  at  the  mouth  of  an  alley, 
some  dirty  children  were  playing  in  the  kennel, 
and  a  boy  with  a  basket  of  figs  on  his  head  was 


58  THE   COBBLER  OF  NfMES 

crying  the  price  as  he  went  along.  It  was  an 
ordinary  street  scene,  busy  and  noisy,  and 
d'Aguesseau  brushed  against  a  Jesuit  priest  as 
he  walked  on  past  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Castor. 

Full  of  his  own  gloomy  thoughts  he  went  from 
street  to  street,  and  was  only  aroused  at  last  by 
finding  himself  nearly  opposite  a  tavern  — 
which  bore  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Cup  —  and 
in  the  midst  of  an  uproar.  The  doors  and  win- 
dows of  the  public  house  were  crowded,  and 
a  rabble  came  up  the  street  with  jeers  and  cries 
and  laughter.  D'Aguesseau  drew  back  into  the 
shelter  of  a  friendly  doorway  and  waited  the  ap- 
proach of  the  canaille,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  excitement  was  explained.  The  street  was 
not  very  wide,  and  the  crowds  seemed  to  choke 
it  up  as  they  advanced  ;  and  a  little  ahead  of  the 
rabble  came  a  chain  of  prisoners  driven  along 
by  the  whips  of  their  guards  and  pelted  with 
stones  and  offal  by  the  spectators.  The  crimi- 
nals were  fastened  in  pairs  by  short  chains, 
each  having  a  ring  in  the  centre ;  then  a 
long  heavy  chain  was  passed  through  these 
rings,  thus  securing  the  pairs  in  a  long  double 
column.  There  were  fifty  men  thus  fastened ; 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  59 

twenty-five  on  one  side,  and  twenty-five  on  the 
other,  and  between,  the  cruel  iron  chain ;  each 
man  bearing  a  weight  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  though  they  were  of  all  ages  and  con- 
ditions, from  the  beardless  boy  to  the  veteran 
bowed  with  years.  It  was  a  gang  going  to  the 
galleys  at  Marseilles,  and  there  were  thieves, 
murderers,  and  Huguenots ;  the  latter  especially 
and  fatally  distinguished  by  red  jackets  that 
they  might  be  the  mark  of  every  stone  anfl  every 
insult  of  the  bystanders.  Like  the  exposure 
of  the  corpses  of  damned  persons,  the  chain  was 
a  moral  lesson  for  the  people,  and  especially  for 
the  recalcitrants. 

As  the  unfortunates  approached,  women 
leaned  from  the  windows  to  cry  out  at  them, 
and  even  the  children  .cast  mud  and  stones. 
D'Aguesseau  looked  on  sternly;  he  did  not 
know  how  soon  he  might  be  of  that  number, 
and  he  counted  forty-two  red-jackets.  The 
leaders  came  on  stubbornly ;  they  were  two 
strong  men  of  middle  age,  and  they  bore  the 
chain  with  grim  fortitude,  but  the  two  who 
followed  were  pitiful  enough,  —  a  white-haired 
man,  who  limped  painfully  and  was  near  the 


60  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

end  of  his  journey,  and  a  boy  with  a  red  streak 
on  each  cheek,  and  the  rasping  cough  of  a  con- 
sumptive. The  next  pair  were  also  red-jackets ; 
both  were  lame.  The  fourth  couple  walked 
better;  the  fifth  had  to  be  lashed  up  by  the 
guards.  They  were  hailed  with  laughter  and 
derision;  the  convicts  received  sympathy,  the 
Huguenots  were  pelted  so  vigorously  that  the 
blood  flowed  from  more  than  one  wound,  as 
the  keepers  whipped  them  into  the  stable-yard 
of  the  Golden  Cup,  with  the  rabble  at  their 
heels.  The  chain  would  be  fastened  in  the 
stable,  while  the  guards  took  some  refreshments, 
and  here  was  an  opportunity,  therefore,  for 
the  population  to  enjoy  some  innocent  diver- 
sion. A  Huguenot  prisoner  and  a  dancing 
bear  served  much  the  same  purpose.  The 
street  was  nearly  cleared,  so  many  crowded 
into  the  inn-yard,  and  the  sounds  of  merri- 
ment rose  from  within. 

D'Aguesseau  was  turning  away  in  stern  dis- 
gust, when  he  came  face  to  face  with  a  hideous 
old  woman,  with  a  string  of  fish  in  her  hand. 
She  had  been  gloating  over  the  chain,  and  she 
was  smiling  amiably  still,  running  her  very  red 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  6 1 

tongue  along  the  edge  of  her  red  lips.  She 
curtsied  to  Francois  and  held  out  her  fish. 

"  A  bargain,  monsieur,"  she  said  pleasantly. 
"  The  sight  of  the  red-jackets  makes  Mere 
Tigrane  feel  good;  the  fish  are  cheap." 

He  shook  his  head,  making  an  effort  to  pass 
her,  but  she  persisted. 

"  One  fish,  monsieur,"  she  protested,  —  "a 
mountain  trout.  Dame  !  't  is  fresh,  caught  this 
morning.  The  spectacle  of  these  Huguenots 
has  made  monsieur  hungry." 

"  My  good  woman,  I  want  neither  fish  nor 
fowl,"  d'Aguesseau  said  impatiently. 

"  Monsieur  makes  a  mistake,"  she  persisted 
with  a  grin  ;  "  these  are  good  fish,  caught  in  the 
stream  where  they  drowned  a  Camisard  witch 
last  week !  " 

With  a  suppressed  exclamation  he  thrust 
her  aside  and  walked  on,  her  shrill  laughter  in 
his  ears,  and  the  cries  of  the  rabble  in  the  yard 
of  the  Golden  Cup.  As  for  Mere  Tigrane,  she 
stood  a  moment  looking  longingly  at  the  inn; 
could  she  forego  the  diversion?  Finally,  she 
decided  between  two  attractions,  and  quietly 
followed  D'Aguesseau. 


62  THE  COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

The  next  day,  when  Francois  descended  from 
his  room,  he  heard  voices  in  the  shop,  and  saw 
that  the  cobbler  was  talking  to  two  women. 
'  One  was  tall,  raw-boned,  and  grim-faced,  with 
iron-gray  hair  and  keen  black  eyes,  and  wore 
the  dress  of  an  upper  servant;  the  other  was 
one  of  the  most  charming  young  girls  he  had 
ever  seen.  He  stood  in  the  kitchen  undecided 
whether  to  retire  or  to  quietly  admire  the 
picture,  but  before  he  could  determine  upon 
his  proper  course  le  Bossu  called  him. 

"  Come  in,  monsieur,"  he  said ;  "  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Cyr  would  speak  to  you." 

Francois  responded  with  some  surprise,  and 
bowed  in  reply  to  Rosaline's  curtsey. 

"  M.  d'Aguesseau,"  she  said,  blushing  a  little 
under  his  glance,  "  my  grand* mire,  Madame  de 
St.  Cyr  desires   to   see  you,  being  acquainted 
with  your  family,  —  she  knew  your  mother." 
His  eyes  lighted  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 
"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  does  me  much  honor  to 
request  a  visit,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied ;   "  I 
am  at  her  service." 

Rosaline  and  Babet  had  been  into  Nimes  to 
shop,  and  they  were  ready  to  go.     The  young 


THE   COBBLER'S  GUEST  63 

girl  laid  her  hand  on  the  older  woman's 
arm. 

"  Then  we  will  expect  you  to-morrow  after- 
noon, monsieur,"  she  said  quietly;  "my  very 
good  friend  Chariot  will  direct  you  to  St.  Cyr, 
and  madame  my  grand' mere  will  be  pleased  to 
make  you  welcome." 

M.  d'Aguesseau  murmured  his  acknowledg- 
ments, while  he  aided  Babet  in  gathering  up 
numerous  small  packages,  and  then  the  two 
women  bade  Chariot  adieu  and  departed,  —  the 
drawn  face  of  the  cobbler  clouding  as  Rosaline 
left,  as  though  the  sun  were  obscured.  The 
younger  man  turned  from  the  door  with  an  ex- 
clamation. 

"Who  is  that  angel?"  he  demanded  eagerly. 

Le  Bossu  was  stitching  a  shoe,  his  fingers 
shaking  a  little  as  he  thrust  the  needle  into  the 
stubborn  leather. 

"  Mademoiselle  Rosaline  de  St.  Cyr,"  he  re- 
plied quietly,  his  brown  eyes  searching  his  guest 
with  a  new  sternness.  "  You  had  better  retire, 
monsieur,  there  comes  one  of  the  Franciscan 
fathers  for  his  shoes." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   MILITARY   SUITOR 

A  WEEK  had  passed  and  the  afternoon  sun 
was  shining  red  on  the  windows  of  St.  Cyr,  while 
the  shadows  lengthened  in  the  rambling  old 
garden.  Rosaline  was  feeding  her  doves  beside 
the  sundial,  Truffe  sitting  on  the  rustic  bench 
in  disgrace  because  she  had  made  a  dash  at  the 
feathered  pets  who  came  cooing  to  the  young 
girl's  feet.  It  was  a  picture  that  the  sunshine 
touched  with  tender  radiance;  behind  was  the 
dark  green  hedge,  the  blooming  roses,  and  in 
the  circle  by  the  dial  the  doves  were  flocking  to 
take  food  from  their  mistress,  whose  fair  face 
was  as  softly  colored  as  the  roses,  and  her  hair 
showing  its  loveliest  tints  of  gold.  She  talked 
to  her  pets  while  she  fed  them. 

"  There,  there !  Marguerite,  you  have  had 
more  than  your  share ;  you  are  as  great  a  gour- 
mande  as  the  naughty  Truffe,"  she  said,  shaking 
her  finger  at  one  pretty  bird.  "  Viens  done,  my 
Conde !  Here  is  a  crumb  for  you,  sweetheart. 


A   MILITARY  SUITOR  65 

As  for  Mademoiselle  d'Hautefort,  she  shall  have 
nothing  if  she  pushes  so  against  Corneille. 
What  a  lot  of  little  rogues  !  " 

She  had  distributed  all  her  crumbs  and  the 
doves  were  fluttering  over  them,  struggling  for 
the  largest  fragments,  and  even  alighting  on  her 
wrists  and  hands  in  their  eagerness.  Truffe 
meanwhile  sulked  under  her  punishment,  her 
bright  black  eyes  watching  the  birds  with  mali- 
cious longing  for  vengeance. 

"  You  pretty  creatures,  how  I  love  you  !  "  said 
Rosaline,  caressing  the  two  doves  she  had  gath- 
ered into  her  arms.  "  Look  at  them,  Truffe, 
and  be  ashamed  of  your  evil  thoughts.  Nay, 
do  not  deny  them,  madame ;  can  I  not  read  your 
eyes  ?  You  would  eat  them,  you  wicked  ogress, 
I  see  it !  Ah,  there  —  you  are  raising  your  ears ; 
what  is  it,  ma  ch/rie  ?  " 

The  dog  not  only  pointed  her  ears,  she  began 
to  bark,  looking  'back  toward  the  house,  but  not 
daring  to  spring  from  the  seat  where  she  had 
been  ordered  to  remain  until  pardoned. 

"  You  hear  a  step  on  the  gravel,  Truffe,  and 
so  do  I,"  said  Rosaline  listening.  "  Maybe  it  is 
the  —  new  steward." 

S 


66  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

Truffe  barked  again  and  then  uttered  a  low 
growl  of  displeasure  as  a  man  turned  the  corner 
of  the  hedge  and  came  into  view.  He  was 
moderately  tall,  with  a  handsome  figure,  which 
was  arrayed  in  the  height  of  fashion  ;  his  coat  of 
uncut  velvet  was  laced  with  gold,  and  he  wore 
red  heels  on  his  high  riding-boots,  and  his  waist- 
coat and  trousers  were  of  satin.  His  full,  curled 
periwig  was  fresh  from  Paris  like  the  little  hat, 
which  was  covered  with  feathers.  He  made 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Cyr  a  wonderful  bow  and 
then  looked  at  her  in  open  admiration,  his  blue 
eyes  sparkling  and  his  white  teeth  showing  as 
he  smiled. 

"  A  dove  in  the  midst  of  doves,"  he  said  with 
gallantry;  "  mademoiselle  is  ever  the  fairest  rose 
in  her  garden." 

"  M.  de  Baudri  makes  very  pretty  compli- 
ments," Rosaline  replied,  her  smiling  compos- 
ure unruffled.  "  Truffe  and  I  did  not  know  he 
had  honored  St.  Cyr  with  a  visit." 

"  I  have  been  half  an  hour  with  madame,"  he 
replied,  "  all  the  while  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  loveliest  face  in  the  world." 

"  I  would  have  sent  Truffe,  if  I  had  known 


A   MILITARY  SUITOR  67 

that  you  desired  to  see  her,  monsieur,"  Rosaline 
replied  demurely. 

Monsieur  bit  his  lip ;  he  hated  dogs  and  the 
provoking  little  witch  knew  it. 

"  Mademoiselle  chooses  to  mock  me,"  he  said, 
"  and  mockery  comes  unnaturally  from  such 
lovely  lips." 

Rosaline  laughed  softly,  still  caressing  a  dove 
that  nestled  on  her  arm. 

"  Tell  me  the  news  from  Nimes,  monsieur," 
she  retorted  lightly ;  "  I  love  a  good  story,  you 
know." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  mademoiselle,  if  you  will 
love  the  story  teller,"  he  replied. 

"  I  cannot  judge  until  I  have  heard  the 
story,"  she  retorted,  mischievous  mirth  in  her 
blue  eyes. 

"  There  is  not  so  much  to  tell,  mademoiselle," 
he  said  ;  "  these  wretches  —  the  Camisards  — 
still  trouble  us  despite  their  defeat  at  Vagnas. 
If  we  could  get  the  head  of  the  brigand  Cava- 
lier all  would  be  well.  Has  mademoiselle  heard 
of  M.  le  Marechal's  dinner  party?  'T  is  amus- 
ing enough.  M.  Montrevel  is  in  a  bad  humor; 
the  villain  Cavalier  has  cut  up  two  detachments, 


68  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

as  you  know,  —  one  at  Ners,  and  one  intended 
for  Sommieres.  Thinking  of  these  things  and 
drinking  wine  —  after  dinner  —  M.  le  Marechal 
was  angry,  and  at  the  moment  came  tidings 
that  these  heretics  were  praying  and  howling 
in  a  mill  on  the  canal,  outside  of  the  Porte-des- 
Carmes.  Mtre  de  Dieu  !  you  should  have  seen 
Montrevel.  In  a  trice  he  had  out  a  regiment 
of  foot,  and  away  he  went  to  the  mill.  The 
soldiers  surrounded  it  and  broke  open  the  door, 
and  there  sure  enough  were  a  lot  of  psalm- 
singers,  about  three  hundred  old  men,  women, 
and  children  —  heretics  all !  The  soldiers  went 
in  —  ah,  mademoiselle  does  not  desire  particu- 
lars; but  truly  it  is  slow  work  to  cut  three 
hundred  throats,  especially  in  such  confusion. 
M.  le  Marechal  ordered  them  to  fire  the  mill. 
Man  Dieu  !  't  was  a  scene !  It  burned  artisti- 
cally, and  the  soldiers  drove  back  all  who  tried 
to  escape.  One  rogue,  M.  Montrevel's  own  ser- 
vant too,  saved  a  girl,  but  the  marechal  ordered 
them  both  hung  at  once.  He  was  begged  off 
by  some  sisters  of  mercy,  who  unhappily  came 
by  just  as  they  had  the  noose  over  his  head,  but 
the  heretic  had  been  hung  already.  T  is  called 


A   MILITARY  SUITOR  69 

M.  Montrevel's  dinner  party  in  Nimes ;  and  there 
is  a  saying  that  one  must  burn  three  hundred 
heretics  before  M.  le  Marechal  has  an  appetite." 

Rosaline  stood  stroking  the  dove,  her  eyes 
averted. 

"  What  a  pleasant  story,  monsieur,"  she  re- 
marked coldly,  "  to  tell  out  here  in  the  warm 
sunshine !  What  do  I  want  to  know  of  those 
wretches  dying  in  the  flames?"  and  she  flashed 
a  sudden  look  of  scorn  upon  him  that  brought  a 
flush  to  his  face. 

"  Mademoiselle  should  have  asked  me  to 
tell  her  the  one  story  that  I  know  by  heart," 
he  replied,  his  voice  and  manner  changing 
in  an  instant  and  full  now  of  courtesy  and 
propitiation. 

"And  what  is  that,  monsieur?"  she  asked 
shortly ;  the  color  was  warm  in  her  cheeks  and 
her  blue  eyes  flashed  dangerously. 

"  The  old  story  of  my  love  for  you,  Rosaline," 
he  said  eagerly,  advancing  nearer  the  sundial, 
the  flock  of  doves  rising  with  a  whir  of  wings 
as  he  approached. 

She  was  unmoved,  however,  only  averting  her 
face. 


/O  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

"  I  have  spoken  to  madame,"  he  added,  "  and 
now  I  speak  to  you." 

"  And  what  did  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  say  ?  "  she 
demanded,  giving  him  a  questioning  glance. 

"  She  told  me  that  so  great  was  her  love  for 
her  only  grandchild  that  she  would  never  force 
your  choice,  and  therefore  it  remained  with  you 
to  decide  for  yourself."  He  spoke  with  feeling, 
his  bold  blue  eyes  on  her  lovely  face.  "  I  trust 
that  you  are  not  wholly  indifferent  to  me,  Rosa- 
line," he  continued,  "  and  I  can  give  you  much. 
My  beautiful  princess  is  shut  up  here  in  a 
ruinous  old  chateau.  I  will  show  you  the 
world  —  Paris  —  Versailles.  No  beauty  of  the 
court  will  compare  with  the  rose  of  Languedoc." 

He  paused,  carried  away  by  his  own  elo- 
quence, for  M.  de  Baudri  was  not  given  to 
sentiment.  Rosaline  had  listened  with  patience 
and  composure,  and  she  answered  him  in  a  tone 
of  quiet  amusement. 

"  Monsieur  does  me  too  much  honor,"  she 
said.  "  The  chateau  is  indeed  ruinous,  but  't  is 
my  home,  and,  strange  to  say,  I  do  not  long  for 
the  splendors  of  the  court  —  or  the  flattery  of 
the  courtiers." 


A  MILITARY  SUITOR  Jl 

"  But  my  love  for  you,  mademoiselle  !  "  he 
protested  in  surprise ;  surely  this  child  did  not 
realize  the  honor  he  paid  her.  "  I  offer  you  my 
heart  and  hand." 

Rosaline  curtsied  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  I  am  honored,  monsieur,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
happily,  as  my  grandmother  says,  I  have  the 
decision  of  my  fate.  My  marriage  matters  to 
no  one  except  to  her  and  to  me  —  and,  mon- 
sieur, I  do  not  desire  to  marry." 

He  stared  at  her  in  such  frank  surprise  that 
she  had  to  avert  her  face  to  hide  her  amusement. 

"You  are  only  a  child,"  he  said  bluntly; 
"  you  do  not  understand  what  my  name  and  for- 
tune would  mean  to  you.  'T  is  not  every  day, 
mademoiselle,  that  a  man  desires  to  marry  a 
young  girl  without  a  dot !  " 

She  laughed  softly,  her  blue  eyes  shining. 

"  I  appreciate  your  condescension,  monsieur," 
she  said  amiably ;  "  but  I  am  too  wise  to  thrust 
myself  upon  such  rash  generosity." 

"  This  is  folly,  mademoiselle,"  he  exclaimed, 
his  temper  rising;  "or  is  it  only  a  shamefaced 
reluctance  to  confess  your  true  sentiments?" 

Rosaline   had   borne  much,  but  at  this  she 


72  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

broke  down,  laughing  as  merrily  and  recklessly 
as  a  child  ;  laughing  until  tears  stood  in  her  blue 
eyes.  Meanwhile  M.  de  Baudri  stood  in  front 
of  her  swelling  with  rage  and  mortification,  his 
face  crimson  and  his  blue  eyes  fierce  with  indig- 
nation. Still  Rosaline  laughed. 

"Mademoiselle  is  merry,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur,"  she  replied, 
"  a  thousand  times." 

"  You  have  not  answered  me,"  he  went  on 
harshly.  "Am  I  to  understand  that  my  suit 
is  refused?  " 

"  It  is  refused,  monsieur,"  she  rejoined  more 
calmly;  "  M.  de  Baudri  should  seek  a  bride  of 
more  wealth  and  distinction." 

He  stood  a  moment  silent,  the  picture  of  furi- 
ous indignation,  then  he  looked  over  the  hedge 
and  saw  a  man  crossing  the  space  between  the 
house  and  the  wing.  M.  de  Baudri  frowned. 

"Who  is  that,  mademoiselle?"  he  demanded 
sharply,  pointing  toward  the  stranger. 

Rosaline's  eyes  followed  his  finger,  and  she 
colored,  her  composure  disturbed  at  last. 

"  It  is  the  new  steward,  monsieur,"  she 
replied. 


A   MILITARY  SUITOR  73 

"  The  new  steward  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr  refused  the  man  I  recommended  be- 
cause she  said  she  could  not  afford  to  pay  for  a 
successor  to  old  Jacques." 

"That  is  true,"  she  rejoined  quietly;  "we 
really  could  not  afford  it.  But  since  old  Jacques 
died  we  have  found  ourselves  in  need  of  a 
man  to  help  us,  therefore  we  have  afforded  it, 
monsieur." 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  M.  de  Baudri,  with  an- 
other glknce  at  the  house.  "  A  strange  sort  of 
a  steward.  You  had  best  be  careful,  mademoi- 
selle, and  not  employ  disguised  Camisards ;  the 
neighborhood  swarms  with  the  vermin,  and  M. 
le  Marechal  means  to  exterminate  them  all." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  caution,  monsieur,"  she 
replied,  "  but  Pere  Ambroise  looks  after  us  very 
well." 

"  Pere  Ambroise  is  a  fat  fool,"  he  retorted, 
giving  a  malicious  kick  at  Truffe,  who  had  ap- 
proached him. 

Rosaline  saw  it  and  her  face  flushed  crimson. 

"  Come  here,  Truffe,"  she  said,  and  then  curt- 
sied to  her  visitor.  "  We  bid  you  good  afternoon, 
monsieur,"  she  continued  coolly ;  "  neither  Truffe 


74  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

nor  I  appreciate  the  honor  you  have  offered  us. 
We  beg  you  to  confer  it  on  a  more  worthy  ob- 
ject, and  we  bid  you  good-evening." 

And  away  she  ran  with  her  dog,  leaving  M. 
de  Baudri  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  garden, 
the  image  of  indignant  disgust.  The  minx  had 
dared  to  refuse  him,  an  officer  of  his  Majesty's 
dragoons,  when  she  should  have  been  over- 
whelmed by  his  condescension ;  but  clearly  she 
was  not  responsible,  —  a  frivolous  child  !  So  he 
thought,  and  rode  away,  cursing  his  folly  and 
the  infatuation  of  Madame  de  St.  Cyr.  But,  for 
all  that,  he  did  not  mean  to  lose  the  Rose  of 
Languedoc. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   STRING   OF   TROUT 

THE  next  morning  Rosaline  was  once  more 
among  her  flowers.  There  was  no  gardener  at 
the  chateau  now,  and  it  was  the  young  girl's 
custom  to  weed  and  tend  her  own  flower  beds. 
She  was  bending  over  some  velvet-faced  pansies, 
snipping  off  the  dead  blooms  and  plucking 
away  the  vagrant  grass  when  she  heard  some 
one  speak  behind  her,  and  looking  up  saw  a 
hideous  face  peeping  over  the  wicket  gate. 
Rosaline  started  and  stood  erect,  viewing  her 
visitor  with  a  suspicious  glance.  But  Mere 
Tigrane  —  for  it  was  she  —  was  accustomed  to 
such  receptions,  and  she  only  grinned  more 
widely  as  she  dropped  mademoiselle  a  curtsey. 

"  Have  some  fish  for  dinner,  my  pretty !  "  she 
said  in  a  coaxing  tone,  holding  up  a  string  of 
trout;  "  mademoiselle  can  have  the  whole  string 
for  ten  sous  !  " 

Rosaline  had  no  thought  except  one  of  hor- 
ror and  repulsion.  The  face  looking  over  the 


76  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

gate,  with  its  wide  red  mouth  and  yellow  fangs, 
alarmed  her ;  she  did  not  even  look  at  the  fish, 

"  I  do  not  want  anything,  my  good  woman," 
she  replied,  shaking  her  head. 

"  But  't  is  fast  day,  my  darling,"  remarked 
Mere  Tigrane,  with  tender  solicitude ;  "  all  good 
Catholics  eat  fish  to-day !  " 

Rosaline's  lesson  was  well  learned  and  she 
was  on  her  guard  in  a  moment. 

"  We  have  enough  fish,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  But  these  are  so  fresh,  mademoiselle,"  per- 
sisted la  Louve.  "  But  then  the  young  lady  can- 
not judge ;  permit  poor  Mere  Tigrane  to  show 
these  lovely  trout  to  the  cook." 

"  I  tell  you  that  we  have  more  fish  than  we 
can  eat,"  said  Rosaline,  haughtily ;  "  you  had 
better  try  elsewhere." 

"  But  think  of  the  bargain,  my  dear,"  re- 
joined the  old  hag,  in  honeyed  tones ;  "  now  the 
cook  will  know  —  or  the  steward." 

As  she  spoke  Mere  Tigrane  gently  opened 
the  gate  and  entered,  to  Rosaline's  disgust. 
She  instinctively  feared  the  fishwife  and  she  did 
not  want  her  to  approach  the  house.  'She 
moved,  therefore,  into  the  centre  of  the  path, 


A   STRING   OF  TROUT  77 

blocking  the  way,  —  a  very  bad  move,  indeed, 
for  it  roused  all  la  Louve's  suspicions. 

"  Now,  my  dearie,  let  me  sell  these  pretty 
fish  in  the  kitchen,"  she  coaxed,  approaching 
the  girl  and  laying  her  bony  hand  on  Rosaline's 
skirt. 

Mademoiselle  drew  back  with  horror,  drag- 
ging her  frock  from  the  talon  fingers  with  a  little 
involuntary  cry  of  disgust.  As  she  did  so  there 
was  a  low  growl  from  the  hedge  and  Truffe, 
dashing  suddenly  upon  the  scene,  sprang  on 
Mere  Tigrane.  The  old  woman  shrieked, 
snatching  a  knife  from  her  bosom  and  striking 
at  the  dog. 

"  Do  not  dare  to  hurt  Truffe !  "  cried  Rosa- 
line, throwing  herself  on  the  poodle  and  drag- 
ging her  off  before  she  had  done  more  mischief 
than  to  tear  the  other's  clothes.  "  Go  !  "  she 
added  imperiously,  stamping  her  foot ;  "  you 
forced  yourself  in  —  and  see,  I  cannot  hold  the 
dog !  There  is  a  crown  to  buy  you  a  new 
petticoat ;  take  it  and  go !  " 

Mere  Tigrane  gathered  up  the  money  greedily, 
and  prudently  retired  beyond  the  gate  before 
she  spoke.  Her  little  eyes  glittered  with  rage, 


78  THE   COBBLER   OF 

although  she  smiled  broadly  at  the  young 
girl. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  generous,"  she  said ;  "  she 
has  more  than  paid  for  the  fish  —  will  she  not 
have  them  ?  " 

Rosaline  was  annoyed  beyond  endurance. 
She  still  held  the  dog  and  she  turned  a  wither- 
ing glance  on  Mere  Tigrane. 

"  Go  !  "  she  said  sharply,  "  at  once.  Let  me 
hear  no  more  of  you  or  your  fish." 

"  Mtre  de  Dieu,  but  my  beauty  can  be  an- 
gry !  "  remarked  la  Louve.  "  Farewell,  my 
pretty,  and  good  luck  to  you  and  your  dog." 

The  old  woman  made  her  another  curtsey  and 
still  chuckling  to  herself  walked  slowly  away. 

Scarcely  had  she  disappeared  behind  the  tall 
hedge  when  there  was  a  footstep  on  the  path 
behind  Rosaline  and  Francois  d'Aguesseau 
came  in  sight.  He  was  soberly  dressed  like  a 
steward,  and  bare-headed,  having  hurried  from 
the  house  at  the  sound  of  Mere  Tigrane's 
outcry.  He  found  Rosaline  still  holding  the 
dog,  her  face  flushed  with  anger  and  her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  opening  in  the  hedge  where 
her  unpleasant  visitor  had  disappeared. 


A   STRING   OF  TROUT  79 

"  I  heard  a  noise,  mademoiselle,"  he  said, 
"  and  thought  something  had  alarmed  you." 

"  And  something  did,"  replied  Rosaline,  with 
a  shudder ;  "  the  most  dreadful  old  woman  has 
been  here  trying  to  force  her  way  into  the 
house." 

D'Aguesseau  smiled  ;  old  women  did  not  ter- 
rify him,  and  he  set  mademoiselle's  excitement 
down  to  her  nerves. 

"  What  sort  of  an  old  woman  ? "  he  asked 
pleasantly;  "you  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a 
witch,  mademoiselle." 

"  And  so  I  have,"  retorted  the  girl ;  "  a  witch 
with  a  string  of  fish." 

He  started ;  he  too  had  unpleasant  associa- 
tions with  an  apparition  with  a  basket  of  fish. 
He  remembered  the  terrible  tent  at  the  fair,  and 
the  encounter  opposite  the  Sign  of  the  Golden 
Cup. 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?  "  he  asked,  and  as 
Rosaline  pointed,  he  went  to  the  gate,  and  looked 
in  both  directions  but  saw  nothing.  "  She  has 
vanished,"  he  said  reassuringly.  "  I  trust  that 
she  did  not  annoy  you,  mademoiselle." 

"  She  was  teasing  me  to  buy  her  fish,  and 


8O  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

finally  pushed  into  the  garden,"  Rosaline  re- 
plied, "  and  then  she  caught  hold  of  my  skirt 
in  her  eagerness  to  arrest  my  attention.  I  was 
foolish,  I  know,  but,  I  could  n't  help  it,  I  cried 
out — such  a  horror  came  over  me!  Then 
Truffe  sprang  on  her,  and  she  drew  a  knife  on 
my  dog !  I  saved  Truffe  and  ordered  her  away, 
but  I  know  she  was  fearfully  angry,  and  —  and 
I  fear  her ;  I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  fear  her !  " 

"  Put  her  from  your  thoughts,  mademoiselle," 
he  said  soothingly;  "'tis  not  in  the  power  of 
such  a  wretched  creature  to  hurt  you." 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  still  excited; 
"we  are  concealing  so  much,  and  she  wanted 
to  get  to  the  house.  I  was  afraid  she  would 
see  —  "  she  broke  off,  her  face  flushing. 

"  See  me,"  finished  d'Aguesseau  quietly. 
"  Mademoiselle,  I  pray  that  you  will  not  let 
my  presence  add  to  your  anxieties.  I  fear  I 
have  indeed  exposed  this  house  to  peril  by 
accepting  Madame  de  St.  Cyr's  beautiful  friend- 
ship. If  I  believed  so,  I  would  quit  it  at  once. 
My  lot  would  indeed  be  a  miserable  one  if 
I  should  bring  misfortune  to  the  roof  that 
shelters  me." 


A   STRING   OF  TROUT  8 1 

He  spoke  gloomily,  standing  with  folded 
arms  and  bent  head,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
Rosaline  loosened  her  hold  on  Truffe,  who 
wriggled  herself  free  and  fled  away  along  the 
hedge  barking  angrily.  Neither  of  them  heeded 
the  poodle,  however,  for  their  thoughts  were  of 
more  serious  matters. 

"  Have  no  fear,  monsieur,"  Rosaline  said ; 
"  our  peril  could  scarcely  be  increased.  We 
are  all  members  of  a  proscribed  religion,  and  it 
is  natural  that  we  should  all  suffer  together. 
It  has  been  a  pleasure  to  my  grandmother  to  be 
able  to  have  you  as  her  guest.  We  have  been 
so  situated  that  we  could  do  nothing  for  our 
fellow-religionists,  and  it  is  much  to  her  to 
do  even  so  little  for  you." 

"  So  much,"  he  corrected  gravely.  "  I  was 
friendless  and  homeless,  when  madame  asked 
me  to  stay  here,  and  I  wish  from  my  heart  that  I 
could  be  of  real  service  to  you,  instead  of  merely 
assuming  a  steward's  place  as  a  temporary 
disguise." 

He  paused   an  instant,  watching  the  young 
girl's  downcast  face  intently,  and  then  he  spoke 
again,  with  yet  more  earnestness. 
6 


82  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

"  I  have  been  urging  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  to 
leave  this  neighborhood,"  he  said,  —  "  to  go  to 
England.  No  one  is  safe  here,  and  I  cannot 
hope  much  from  this  insurrection,  when  I  think 
of  the  mighty  force  that  the  king  can  hurl 
against  these  poor  peasants." 

Rosaline  raised  her  face,  a  look  of  inspiration 
on  her  delicate  features. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "you  forget  that 
the  ban  Dien  is  with  us !  Surely  we  must  win, 
when  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation  leads  us." 

He  looked  at  her  with  admiration  in  his  eyes. 
How  beautiful  she  was ! 

"  That  is  true,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  "but 
it  may  not  be  His  will  that  we  should  con- 
quer upon  earth.  The  battle  must  be  waged, 
and  death  and  destruction  follow  it.  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  of  you  and  madame  here  in  this 
chateau,  in  the  very  heart  of  it ;  for,  doubtless, 
Cavalier  will  assault  Nimes  at  last." 

"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  cannot  go  to  England," 
the  girl  said  quietly ;  "  she  is  too  old  for  the 
flight.  We  must  face  it." 

"  Then,  mademoiselle,  I  will  remain  with  you 
here,"  he  declared. 


A  STRING  OF  TROUT  83 

She  gave  him  a  startled  glance,  coloring 
slightly. 

"  You  promised  your  mother  to  go  to  Eng- 
land," she  reminded  him ;  "  and  your  single 
sword  could  never  defend  us." 

"  And  my  presence  draws  danger  —  you 
would  add,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  quietly ; 
"  that  is  true,  but  I  shall  not  remain  in  this 
house,  I  shall  go  to  the  CeVennes,  and  there 
I  can  still  watch  over  you  a  little.  I  shall 
indeed  go  to  England,  but  not  now." 

He  spoke  with  such  resolution  that  she  at- 
tempted no  reply.  There  was  a  pause  and 
again  Truffe  barked  viciously  at  the  other  end 
of  the  hedge,  and  a  glint  of  red  showed  through 
a  break  in  the  thicket,  but  neither  of  the  two 
friends  noticed  it.  At  last  the  girl  broke  the 
silence. 

"  I  suppose  the  end  will  come  some  time," 
she  said  dreamily.  "The  old  chateau  will  be 
consumed  by  the  flames  that  M.  de  Baudri's 
troops  will  kindle,  the  garden  will  be  a  desolate 
place,  and  Languedoc  will  know  us  no  more.  I 
have  lain  awake  at  night  thinking  of  it,  mon- 
sieur, and  yet  I  am  not  afraid.  I  do  not  know 


84  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

why,  but  I  have  never  been  really  afraid  of  the 
day  when  this  concealment  must  end.  But  oh, 
I  do  pray  that  my  grandmother  may  escape !  I 
think  of  these  things,  and  then  I  come  out  and 
see  God's  sun  shining,  and  hear  my  doves  coo, 
and  it  seems  impossible  that  the  world  is  so 
cruel.  Is  it  indeed  so,  monsieur?  Is  my  life 
here  at  St.  Cyr  a  dream  of  peace  amid  the 
fierce  world?  Can  it  be  that  this  too,  that  I 
have  always  known,  will  end?" 

His  face  was  sad  and  stern,  and  he  looked  at 
her  with  sorrowful  eyes. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  "  I  pray  that  it 
may  never  end.  But  once  I  too  had  such  a 
dream.  I  was  a  little  lad  at  my  mother's  knee 
in  Dauphine.  The  sun  shone  there  too,  and  the 
birds  sang,  and  every  day  life  went  on.  I  had  a 
father  whom  I  reverenced,  who  taught  me  and 
guided  me,  a  sister  whom  I  loved,  and  we  were 
rich."  He  paused  and  then  added,  "  I  am  almost 
a  beggar  now  —  but  for  madame's  loan  which 
my  father's  prudent  investments  in  England  will 
enable  me  to  repay.  I  have  neither  father  nor 
mother  nor  sister.  The  chateau  is  a  blackened 
ruin,  the  lands  are  tilled  by  strangers.  Man 


A   STRING   OF  TROUT  85 

Dieu!  my  dream  ended  as  I  pray  yours  may 
not !  " 

Rosaline's  face  was  full  of  sympathy,  tears 
gathered  in  her  eyes,  she  held  out  her  hand 
with  a  gesture  of  commiseration. 

"  Monsieur,  pardon  me  for  speaking  of  it," 
she  said,  a  quiver  in  her  voice;  "your  sister  — 
oh,  believe  me,  I  grieve  with  you  for  so  terrible 
an  affliction.  God  knows  what  my  fate  may 
be!" 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  his  and  kissed  it. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  gravely,  "  while  I 
live  I  will  surely  defend  you  from  that  awful 
calamity.  There  is  no  one  to  require  my  ser- 
vice —  't  is  yours,  mademoiselle,  and  my  grati- 
tude and  devotion.  Would  that  I  had  more  to 
devote  to  your  protection  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BABET  VISITS   THE   COBBLER 

THE  little  hunchback,  Chariot,  sat  patiently 
at  his  cobbler's  bench  making  a  pair  of  shoes. 
The  sun  was  not  shining  in  his  window ;  it  shone 
on  the  house  across  the  court,  and  there  was 
only  a  reflected  glare  to  brighten  the  shop  at 
the  sign  of  Two  Shoes.  His  door  was  open,  and 
from  where  he  sat  he  could  see  the  two  children 
opposite,  playing  on  the  threshold  of  their 
home.  They  were  not  handsome  children,  and 
were  clad  in  patched  and  faded  garments,  yet 
the  shoemaker  looked  over  at  them  often  as  he 
plied  his  needle.  He  heard  the  voice  of  their 
mother  singing  as  she  did  her  work ;  he  saw  the 
father  come  home  for  his  dinner,  the  two  little 
ones  greeting  him  with  noisy  affection.  A 
humble  picture  of  family  life,  scarcely  worth 
recording,  yet  every  day  le  Bossu  watched  it 
with  interest  and  a  dull  pain.  His  hearth  was 
desolate,  but  not  so  desolate  as  his  heart. 


BABET  VISITS   THE   COBBLER  8/ 

Chariot  cut  a  strip  of  fine  kid  and  stitched  it, 
but  his  eyes  dwelt  sadly  on  the  house  across  the 
court.  He  went  in  and  out  his  own  door  daily, 
but  no  one  ever  greeted  him ;  no  loving  voice 
spoke  kind  words  of  sympathy  when  his  trouble 
was  upon  him ;  no  friendly  hand  performed  the 
little  every-day  services  for  him.  There  was 
silence  always,  —  silence  and  loneliness.  The 
hunchback  thought  of  it  and  of  his  life.  He 
could  remember  no  great  blessings  or  joys  in  it. 
His  parents  were  humble,  and  he  was  the  one 
misshapen  child  in  a  large  family.  From  his 
birth  he  had  been  unwelcome  in  the  world.  A 
neglected  infant,  he  fell  from  the  bed  to  the 
floor,  and  from  that  time  began  to  grow  crooked 
and  sickly.  His  mother's  death  robbed  him  of 
his  only  friend,  and  he  struggled  through  pain- 
ful years  of  neglect  and  suffering  to  manhood  — 
but  what  a  manhood !  he  said  to  himself;  not 
even  his  own  brethren  cared  for  him.  The 
brothers  and  sisters  went  out  into  the  world,  and 
Chariot  would  have  been  left  in  miserable  pov- 
erty but  for  a  kind  cobbler  who  taught  him  his 
trade,  and  thus  enabled  the  cripple  to  earn  his 
own  living. 


88  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

That  meagre  story  of  pain  and  sorrow  was 
Chariot's  history,  and  now  he  stitched  away 
patiently  on  his  shoes  and  made  no  complaint. 
No  one  thought  of  him  as  a  man  endowed  with 
all  a  man's  feelings  and  passions.  The  little 
hunchbacked  shoemaker  of  St.  Antoine  was  not 
disliked  by  his  neighbors ;  he  was  welcome  to 
gather  up  the  crumbs  of  joy  that  fell  from  the 
happier  man's  table,  to  look  on  at  feasts  and 
weddings ;  he  was  even  wanted  at  funerals  —  for 
he  had  a  strangely  touching  way  of  showing  his 
sympathy ;  but  Dien !  he  was  a  thing  apart, 
le  bosstt,  a  little  deformity.  No  one  thought  of 
the  soul  caged  within  that  wretched  shape,  and 
looking  out  on  all  it  desired  of  the  fulness  of 
life,  hungering  for  a  crumb  of  joy,  and  debarred 
forever  and  ever. 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  f "  Chariot  said  sometimes, 
"  why  didst  thou  give  me  the  soul  of  a  man,  and 
a  body  that  is  only  a  mark  for  pity  or  scorn  ?  " 

A  question  that  could  be  answered  only  when 
the  long  and  painful  journey  should  be  over  and 
the  poor,  misshapen  body  laid  to  rest.  Who  can 
say  in  what  beautiful  form  such  a  spirit  may  be 
clad  when  the  River  of  Death  is  crossed? 


BABET  VISITS   THE   COBBLER  89 

All  these  thoughts  were  in  the  shoemaker's 
mind  as  he  turned  a  little  shoe  in  his  hand.  It 
was  of  white  satin  and  he  was  making  a  rosette  of 
pink  ribbon,  shaping  it  like  a  rose  and  fastening 
it  on  the  toe.  He  fondled  his  work  and  held  it 
off  at  arm's  length,  admiring  it.  Another  pair  of 
shoes  for  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Cyr,  but  this  time 
they  would  come  as  a  surprise.  Next  Thursday 
was  Rosaline's  birthday,  and  the  cobbler  had 
been  long  fashioning  these  shoes  as  a  present. 
He  had  never  dared  offer  her  a  gift  before,  but 
now  he  owed  them  so  many  kindnesses,  they 
had  done  so  much  to  help  him,  that  he  felt  he 
might  offer  this  humble  return  on  mademoi- 
selle's birthday.  That  pair  of  little  white  satin 
shoes  stood  for  much  joy  in  le  Bossu's  dreary 
life ;  to  plan  them,  to  make  them,  to  buy  the 
ribbon  for  the  rosettes,  had  furnished  him  with 
so  many  separate  diversions.  In  the  blankness 
of  his  existence  there  was  one  sacred  spot,  the 
chateau  of  St.  Cyr ;  in  his  sad  days,  the  figure  of 
Rosaline  stood  before  him  like  an  angel.  There 
was  a  great  gulf  between  these  two,  the  beauti- 
ful girl  and  the  humble  cobbler,  and  he  knelt 
down  on  the  farther  side  and  worshipped  her,  as 


9O  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

he  would  worship  a  saint  in  heaven.  And  she 
knew  it  not.  To  her,  he  was  little  Chariot,  poor 
Chariot,  and  her  voice  softened  when  she  spoke 
to  him ;  her  manner  was  more  kind  too  than  to 
others ;  she  could  afford  to  be  goodness  itself  to 
the  hunchbacked  cobbler,  and  she  never  dreamed 
that  she  held  his  life  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 
Great  was  the  gulf  indeed,  and  she  stood  a  long 
way  off  with  the  merciful  sympathy  of  the  angel 
that  she  seemed  to  him  to  be.  He  understood 
it  all  well  enough  and  looked  up  to  worship, 
happy  to  fashion  a  shoe  that  pleased  her  and  to 
see  the  light  in  her  blue  eyes  when  she  thanked 
him. 

So  it  was  that  he  sat  stitching  mademoiselle's 
little  shoe  and  looking  across  at  the  children  on 
his  neighbor's  step ;  they  had  finished  their 
dinner  now,  and  the  father  had  gone  back  to  his 
work.  Le  Bossu's  drawn  face  was  pale  to-day, 
and  there  was  pathos  in  his  brown  eyes.  He 
waxed  his  thread  and  drew  it  back  and  forth  and 
once  or  twice  he  sighed.  There  was  no  sound 
in  his  house  but  the  ticking  of  his  clock,  but 
over  the  way  there  were  the  voices  of  children, 
the  goodwife's  song,  the  clatter  of  dishes.  Char- 


BABET  VISITS   THE   COBBLER  gi 

lot  had  finished  one  slipper  and  put  it  away, 
and  was  taking  up  the  other  when  some  one 
entered  the  court.  His  work  would  be  done  in 
good  season,  the  cobbler  thought  with  satisfac- 
tion, and  he  was  cutting  the  pink  ribbon  when 
he  looked  up  and  saw  Babet,  the  cook  and 
housekeeper  at  St.  Cyr.  Le  Bossu  tucked  the 
slipper  out  of  sight  and  greeted  his  visitor.  She 
entered  with  a  quick,  firm  step,  bearing  herself 
like  a  grenadier,  and  dusted  the  stool  with  the 
end  of  her  shawl  before  she  sat  down. 

"  Well,  Chariot,"  she  said,  opening  a  bundle 
that  she  had  brought,  "  here  are  my  boots,  and 
the  left  one  pinches  me  and  the  right  is  too 
large.  I  tell  you,  man,  that  you  never  make  two 
shoes  alike." 

The  cobbler  smiled.  "  Your  feet  are  not  alike  ; 
that  is  the  trouble,  Babet,"  he  retorted  ;  "  the  left 
one  is  larger  than  the  right." 

"  Tush !  "  ejaculated  the  woman  in  disgust, 
"  do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  I  've  set  my  right 
foot  forward  all  my  life,  little  man,  and  yet  you 
say  the  left  is  larger." 

"You  have  worn  the  flesh  off  your  right, 
thrusting  it  forward,  Babet,"  replied  the  cobbler ; 


92  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  'tis  the  way  with  some  noses  —  they  are  ground 
off,  being  thrust  into  other  people's  business." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Babet,  "  't  is  not  so  with 
mine.  Can  you  fix  the  shoe  so  I  can  wear  it?  " 

The  shoemaker  knelt  down  and  patiently 
tried  on  Babet's  boots,  while  she  found  fault 
first  with  one  and  then  with  the  other.  It  was 
evident  that  she  was  in  no  very  good  humor. 
A  different  customer  was  this  from  mademoi- 
selle, and  Chariot's  thoughts  were  not  set  on 
pleasing  her.  His  guest  had  left  him  to  go 
to  St.  Cyr  and  had  ostensibly  become  steward 
there ;  but  the  hunchback  was  not  deceived. 
He  had  long  suspected  that  the  women  of 
the  chateau  were  of  the  new  religion,  and 
now  he  was  secretly  convinced  of  it,  and  in 
d'Aguesseau  he  saw  a  grave  danger  for  them. 
Chariot  was  a  sincere  Romanist  too,  and  his 
conscience  was  troubled,  but  his  heart  was 
full  of  sympathy  for  misery;  he  had  him- 
self been  miserable  all  his  life.  In  spite  of 
Babet's  bickering,  therefore,  he  found  an  op- 
portunity to  broach  the  subject  nearest  his 
heart. 

"  Does    the    new  steward  suit  Madame  de  St. 


BABET  VISITS   THE  COBBLER  93 

Cyr?"  he  asked,  as  he  finally  took  off  the 
offending  boots  and  put  back  the  old  ones  on 
Babet's  large  feet. 

"  The  new  steward  indeed  !  "  said  she,  with  a 
sniff;  "  a  precious  steward  !  —  I  have  no  use  for 
fine  gentlemen  without  money  !  What  did  you 
send  him  to  us  for?  " 

"I  send  him?"  exclaimed  the  cobbler,  in 
mild  surprise.  "  Mademoiselle  asked  him  to 
come  to  see  her  grandmother." 

Babet  tossed  her  head.  "  'T  was  all  your 
fault,"  she  said  emphatically.  "  I  Ve  nothing 
to  say  against  M.  d'Aguesseau  himself,  but  what 
need  have  we  for  a  steward  ?  And  what  does 
he  do  at  once,  this  fine  gentleman?  " 

Chariot  had  seldom  seen  his  friend  so  out 
of  humor  before,  and  he  regarded  her  in 
amazement. 

"  What  has  he  done?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Fallen  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  Rosa- 
line," retorted  Babet,  bluntly ;  "  and  what  use  is 
there  in  that?  I  tell  you,  Chariot,  I  am  jealous 
for  mademoiselle ;  I  have  no  patience  with 
these  young  fools  —  they  all  do  it,  from  M. 
de  Baudri  down." 


94  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

The  hunchback  laid  down  the  shoes,  the 
pain  in  his  patient  eyes,  and  the  lines  deepening 
around  his  mouth. 

"  M.  d'Aguesseau  is  a  gentleman,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  I  know  who  he  is.  Does  —  does 
mademoiselle  —  find  him  pleasing?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Babet;  she  drew  a 
long  breath  and  stared  at  the  offender  with  eyes 
of  scorn. 

"  Mademoiselle  Rosaline  !  "  she  said  ;  "  Made- 
moiselle Rosaline  pleased  with  him  !  del ! 
why,  you  fool,  she  must  marry  a  duke  or  a 
prince.  But  what  is  the  use  of  having  a  young 
gentleman  hopelessly  in  love  with  her  and 
willing  to  play  at  being  steward  to  be  near 
her?" 

Chariot  sighed ;  he  was  resting  his  chin  on 
his  hand  and  looking  thoughtfully  out  into  the 
court. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  if  it  annoys 
mademoiselle." 

"  Annoys  her !  "  repeated  the  indignant 
woman.  "  If  it  did  —  but  it  does  n't,  bless  her 
innocent  heart;  she  does  not  even  suspect  it 
yet.  But  I  see  it  plain  enough.  He  's  a  fine 


BABET  VISITS   THE   COBBLER  95 

man  too,  and  I  might  be  sorry  for  him,  but 
what  business  has  he  at  St.  Cyr?" 

With  this,  Babet  arose  and  adjusting  her 
little  white  shawl  on  her  broad  shoulders,  she 
smoothed  the  folds  of  her  black  petticoat,  and 
giving  Chariot  some  more  arbitrary  directions 
about  her  boots,  stalked  out.  She  crossed  the 
court  and  trudged  away  toward  the  gate  of 
Nimes  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction.  She  had 
relieved  her  mind,  and  she  believed  that  she  had 
disarmed  the  hunchback's  suspicions.  Babet 
knew  that  Chariot  thought  her  a  Huguenot,  and 
she  took  many  different  ways  of  deceiving  him. 
She  thought  now  that  she  had  given  a  reason 
for  M.  d'Aguesseau's  stay  at  St.  Cyr.  It  was 
a  truthful  statement,  but  she  had  made  it  to 
excuse  the  presence  there  of  a  stranger.  No 
one  knew  of  her  intentions;  Babet  always  acted 
on  her  own  impulses  and  she  fancied  herself  a 
wise  woman.  Her  jealousy  for  mademoiselle 
was  so  genuine  that  she  did  not  have  to  feign 
her  anger ;  no  one  was  good  enough  for  her 
darling. 

She  left  the  hunchback  in  a  thoughtful  mood. 
He  did  not  immediately  resume  his  work ;  he 


g6  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

sat  staring  out  at  the  door,  but  he  saw  nothing. 
A  vision  rose  indeed  before  his  mind  of  a  tall, 
straight  figure,  a  handsome,  strong  face,  the 
voice  and  manners  of  a  station  far  above  his 
own  in  life.  The  little  cobbler  sighed  painfully, 
his  lips  tightened,  he  felt  as  if  some  one  had 
thrust  a  dagger  in  his  heart. 

He  was  still  sitting  there,  staring  into  space, 
when  a  large  figure  darkened  his  doorway  and 
a  stout  man  wearing  the  habit  of  a  priest  en- 
tered his  shop. 


CHAPTER  IX 

CHARLOT  BURNS  A  CANDLE 

THE  priest's  stout  figure  seemed  to  fill  Char- 
lot's  little  shop,  and  he  stood  with  his  hands 
crossed  behind  his  back  looking  down  placidly 
at  the  shoemaker.  He  had  a  round,  rosy,  face 
with  a  succession  of  double  chins  and  a  nose  like 
a  turnip,  but  his  eyes  were  kindly  and  he  was 
nearly  always  smiling.  Pere  Ambroise  was 
popular;  hardly  a  parish  priest  in  Nimes  was 
more  welcome  as  a  visitor,  and  none  were  less 
feared.  Children  ran  after  the  amiable  father, 
babies  crowed  for  him,  invalids  were  glad  to  hear 
his  cheery  voice.  He  was  not  intended  as  a 
persecutor  or  a  martyr;  he  was  round  and  the 
world  was  round,  and  both  revolved  comfortably 
in  their  own  orbits.  Pere  Ambroise  was  lazy, 
and,  Mere  de  Dieu,  these  wretched  Camisards 
were  as  fleet  of  foot  as  mountain  goats !  The 
good  priest  preferred  a  good  dinner  and  a  soft 
bed  in  Nimes.  It  was  a  season  of  trouble  for 
7 


98  THE   COBBLER  OF  N^MES 

his  brethren  who  were  outside  of  the  protection 
of  the  garrison  towns,  and  Pere  Ambroise  was 
sorry  for  them.  Chayla  had  been  slain  at  Pont- 
de-Montvert;  the  Cure  of  Frugeres  shot  in  a 
rye  field;  the  Cure  of  St.  Andre  de  Lanceze 
thrown  from  the  highest  window  of  his  own 
belfry;  others  had  suffered  violent  deaths,  and 
Pere  Ambroise  felt  that  Nimes  was  the  safest 
spot  for  his  residence.  He  did  not  belong  to 
the  missionaries  or  the  prophets,  but  he  raised 
his  hand  against  no  man,  and  more  than  one 
sufferer  secretly  blessed  the  stout  father  as  he 
ambled  along  the  Esplanade,  or  stopped  to  chat 
with  the  children. 

He  wore  his  usual  expression  of  placidity,  a 
certain  unctuous,  well-fed  air,  —  the  cheerfulness 
that  comes  from  a  full  stomach  and  the  digestion 
of  an  ox.  He  looked  down  with  mild  compas- 
sion on  the  drawn  face  of  the  hunchback.  He 
pitied  Chariot,  but  with  all  his  worldly  wisdom 
he  had  not  the  least  comprehension  of  him. 
The  cobbler  greeted  him  respectfully,  rising 
from  his  stool  at  his  entrance. 

"  Sit  down  —  sit  down,"  said  Pere  Ambroise, 
with  good-humored  remembrance  of  the  hunch- 


CHARLOT  BURNS  A    CANDLE  99 

back's  weariness.  "  I  only  came  to  pay  for  my 
shoes." 

As  he  spoke  he  tried  the  back  of  a  chair  with 
his  hand  before  trusting  his  weight  upon  it. 
Being  satisfied  with  its  strength,  he  sat  down 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  drawing  out  his  purse 
slowly  counted  out  the  money  and  laid  it  on 
Chariot's  bench. 

"How  is  the  business,  my  son?"  he  asked, 
blandly ;  "  you  seem  to  be  always  occupied." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  shoemaker ;  "  thanks  to  the 
bon  Dieu  I  am  well  occupied.  All  men  must 
try  to  walk,  and  most  men  wear  shoes." 

"  When  they  can  afford  them,"  supplemented 
Pere  Ambroise.  "  You  have  a  better  trade  than 
some  of  your  competitors.  All  goes  well  with 
you,  then?  " 

"  As  well  as  usual,  mon phe"  the  hunchback 
replied  quietly,  "  I  live  and  I  eat." 

"  That  is  more  than  some  do  in  Languedoc," 
rejoined  the  father,  with  his  usual  placid  philoso- 
phy, folding  his  fat  hands  on  his  portly  front 
and  gazing  mildly  around  the  shop.  "  Is  your 
room  above  rented  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  moment's 
pause. 


IOO  THE   COBBLER  OF  N?MES 

Chariot  looked  up  quickly,  his  face  changing 
a  little,  and  then  he  bent  over  his  work  again. 

"  It  is  empty,"  he  answered ;  "  I  found  a 
lodger  often  troublesome." 

"  Yet  you  had  one  some  weeks  since,"  re- 
marked the  priest  calmly,  "  or  I  have  been  mis- 
informed." 

Chariot  stirred  uneasily.  "  I  rented  it  for 
three  days  only,  mon  p£re"  he  said. 

"Ah,  yes  —  for  three  days,"  repeated  Pere 
Ambroise,  twirling  his  thumbs  and  looking  up 
at  the  ceiling;  "and  your  lodger  then  became 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr's  steward.  How  was  this, 
my  son  ?  " 

The  shoemaker's  fingers  were  twitching  the 
thread  nervously. 

"  It  was  an  accident,  Pere  Ambroise,"  he  said. 
"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  knew  his  family  and  heard 
that  he  was  here." 

"She  knew  his  family?"  repeated  the  priest 
again,  his  twinkling  eyes  travelling  down  from 
the  ceiling  to  the  drawn  face  before  him. 
"  From  what  part  of  France  did  he  come?  " 

"  From  DauphineY'  le  Bossu  retorted  shortly. 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  Pere  Ambroise,  taking 


CHAR  LOT  BURNS  A    CANDLE  1OI 

up  a  shoe  from  the  bench  and  examining  it 
critically.  "From  Dauphine  —  and  his  name 
is  —  ?" 

Chariot  laid  down  his  work  and  looked  the 
good  father  in  the  eye. 

"  You  love  the  family  at  St.  Cyr,  mon  phc?" 
he  asked  gravely. 

Pere  Ambroise  nodded  his  head  in  assent, 
smiling  a  little  all  the  while  and  patting  the 
shoe  in  his  hands. 

"  Then  I  pray  you  to  ask  me  no  more  ques- 
tions," the  hunchback  said. 

"  Ah  !  "  ejaculated  Pere  Ambroise,  and  there 
was  much  significance  in  his  tone. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Chariot  took  up 
his  work,  cutting  away  at  the  sole  of  a  shoe, 
and  his  visitor  sat  quite  still,  his  fat  person 
spreading  comfortably  over  the  chair  and  set- 
tling into  it,  after  the  fashion  of  soft,  fleshy 
bodies. 

"  You  go  often  to  St.  Cyr,"  he  remarked  at 
last;  "  do  you  know  that  M.  Montrevel  is  deter- 
mined to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  these  Camisards 
—  of  all  heretics,  in  fact ;  that  he  will  cleanse 
Languedoc  of  this  corruption?" 


IO2  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  'T  is  the  king's  will,"  remarked  le  Bossu, 
with  a  sigh,  "  but  there  is  much  suffering." 

" '  If  thy  right  hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off,' " 
Pere  Ambroise  retorted  placidly ;  "  heretics 
must  suffer  —  fire  here  and  hereafter." 

As  he  spoke,  he  rose  deliberately  and  re- 
placed his  purse  in  his  pocket. 

"  My  son,"  he  said  kindly,  "  take  no  more 
such  lodgers  —  that  is  my  advice,  and  you  know 
that  I  am  your  friend." 

"  I  know  it,  mon p£re"  replied  the  shoemaker, 
respectfully  accompanying  the  priest  to  the 
door. 

The  good  father  moved  ponderously  and  at 
the  threshold  he  paused  a  moment  to  look 
about  the  court,  waving  his  hand  to  the  two 
children  who  stood  gaping  at  him.  Then  he 
bade  Chariot  farewell. 

"  Peace  be  to  you,  my  son,"  he  said  be- 
nignly, and  passed  slowly  out  into  the  Rue 
St.  Antoine. 

When  he  was  gone  Chariot  put  away  his 
work  and  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  set  out 
his  supper,  some  figs  and  black  bread.  He 
could  not  stitch,  he  could  not  meditate,  he  was 


CHARLOT  BURNS  A    CANDLE  103 

troubled.  He  did  not  fear  Pere  Ambroise,  but 
he  saw  a  cloud  gathering  over  St.  Cyr.  He  w-as 
a  constant  witness  of  cruelties  to  the  Protestants, 
so  common  then  that  they  scarcely  made  a 
ripple  in  the  placid  surface  of  every-day  life. 
He  saw  the  chain,  the  stake,  the  corpses  of 
damned  persons,  and  these  things  troubled  him 
as  they  did  not  trouble  other  good  Catholics. 
When  the  miserable  appealed  to  him,  his  heart 
was  touched  with  sympathy ;  he  never  mocked, 
he  never  refused  a  cup  of  water,  as  others  did ; 
he  pitied  because  he  too  had  suffered  the 
world's  scorn.  He  could  not  think  of  these  hid- 
eous things  approaching  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Cyr ;  he  would  as  soon  have  dreamed  of  casting 
an  angel  into  hell ;  yet  he  began  now  to  fear  that 
the  finger  of  Fate  was  moving  slowly  but  surely 
in  her  direction.  It  sickened  him ;  he  sat  down 
to  eat,  but  the  bread  was  as  a  stone  between  his 
teeth. 

While  he  sat  thus,  looking  at  his  frugal  supper, 
he  heard  some  one  at  the  door  of  the  shop,  and 
went  out  to  find  Mere  Tigrane.  She  grinned 
her  hideous  grin  at  him  as  he  appeared.  She 
had  done  a  good  business  that  day  and  her 


104  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

hands  were  empty  and  she  jingled  some  coin  in 
her  pocket. 

"I  have  sold  all  my  fish,  Petit  Bossu,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  Ve  been  to  the  chateau  out  there 
by  St.  Cesaire.  Dame!  but  mademoiselle  has 
a  white  skin,  whiter  than  the  corpse  we  saw  at 
the  fair,  and  her  cheeks  are  pink  —  but  she  's  a 
fury,  man  ckeri" 

Chariot  frowned.  "Is  this  all  you  have  to 
say?"  he  asked  sharply ;  "  I  am  closing  my  shop." 

"  Close  it,  my  straight-back !  "  she  replied, 
mocking  him.  "I  stopped  by  to  tell  you  that 
your  lodger  was  out  at  St.  Cyr,"  she  added, 
bursting  into  a  hideous  cackle  of  laughter  at  the 
sight  of  his  angry  face. 

"  You  are  a  fool  for  your  pains  !  "  he  retorted 
and  slammed  the  door  in  her  face. 

"  So  ho  !  "  she  said,  pointing  her  bony  finger 
at  the  door;  "you  are  out  of  temper,  Petit 
Bossu,  and  I  such  a  friend  of  yours  too !  The 
dog  tears  my  petticoat  and  the  hunchback  slams 
the  door  in  my  face.  Viens  done,  Mere  Tigrane ; 
they  treat  you  ill,  but  never  mind,  my  rosebud, 
't  will  all  be  well  yet  for  the  good  old  woman 
and  her  dear  little  fish !  " 


CHARLOT  BURNS  A    CANDLE  105 

And  she  took  herself  off,  laughing  and  mum- 
bling as  she  went. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  house,  le  Bossu  left 
his  supper  untouched,  and  toiling  up  the  ladder 
to  his  room,  reverently  lighted  a  taper  before 
the  shrine  of  the  Virgin.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
before  it,  and  remained  a  long  time,  a  deep 
shadow  on  his  worn  face,  and  his  callous 
hands  clasped  and  raised  in  an  attitude  of 
supplication. 

At  that  moment  the  shadows  were  falling 
softly  about  the  white  walls  of  St.  Cyr,  and 
Rosaline  stood  looking  out  of  the  window  of 
her  own  room,  her  face  to  the  east,  and  singing 
softly,  in  all  the  joy  of  youth  and  innocence. 

Ah,  the  contrast  in  the  lives  that  touch  each 
other  so  strangely  in  this  world  of  ours ! 


CHAPTER  X 

A   DANGEROUS   SUIT 

MADAME  DE  ST.  CYR  was  leaning  back  in 
her  chair,  her  white  hands  folded  in  her  lap, 
her  eyes  fixed  in  an  absent  gaze  on  the  space 
outside  the  sitting-room  window.  Opposite  to 
her,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece  was 
the  elegant  figure  of  M.  de  Baudri.  He  was 
watching  the  old  face  before  him,  with  in- 
different eyes,  a  smile  on  his  lips.  She  was  ill 
at  ease ;  he  was  well  satisfied.  He  was  the  first 
to  break  the  pause. 

"  I  think  madame  will  acknowledge  that  I 
am  willing  to  do  all  that  is  liberal  and  kind,"  he 
said  suavely. 

"  I  do  acknowledge  it,  monsieur,"  she  replied, 
in  troubled  tones,  "but  the  child  —  you  know,  M. 
de  Baudri,  that  I  have  never  treated  Rosaline 
as  other  girls  are  treated.  She  is  accustomed 
to  deciding  for  herself,  young  as  she  is,  and  — 
she  does  not  listen  favorably  to  your  suit." 


A   DANGEROUS  SUIT  107 

He  waved  his  hand  airily.  "  The  whim  of  a 
child,  madame,  the  natural  coyness  of  a  young 
maiden.  I  honor  mademoiselle,  for  her  hesi- 
tations, but  between  us  there  need  be  no 
such  conventionalities.  I  desire  to  marry  your 
granddaughter,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  you  do 
not  object,  madame." 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  haughtily  as  he 
spoke;  there  was  a  covert  threat  in  his  tone, 
despite  his  affable  manner.  The  old  woman 
sighed. 

"  'Tis  hard  for  me  to  explain,"  she  said 
plaintively ;  "  I  can  have  no  objections  to 
you  personally,  M.  de  Baudri,  but  I  am 
averse  to  doing  anything  to  force  Rosaline's 
inclinations." 

He  smiled  scornfully.  "  Madame  does  not 
expect  me  to  believe  in  so  flimsy  an  excuse, 
surely?  "  he  remarked  with  a  frown.  "  I  never 
heard  that  the  whims  of  a  mere  girl  con- 
trolled arrangements  of  this  kind.  My  marriage 
with  your  granddaughter  would  benefit  you  in 
many  ways.  The  de  Baudris  confer  an  honor 
when  they  marry." 

A  red  spot  flamed  in  madame's  white  cheeks ; 


IO8  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

her  situation  had  made  a  coward  of  her,  but 
there  was  a  limit  even  to  her  endurance. 

"  The  St.  Cyrs  thank  monsieur,"  she  said 
ironically,  "but  they  also  are  of  noble  blood. 
No  man  could  confer  an  honor  on  the  daughter 
of  the  house ;  she  will  confer  it,  when  she  makes 
her  choice.  We  are  poor,  M.  de  Baudri,  but 
we  ask  favors  of  no  one." 

He  saw  his  error,  and  bowed  low  before  the 
old  dame,  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  an  angel,"  he  said ;  "  if  I 
did  not  recognize  that,  I  would  not,  a  second 
time,  sue  for  her  hand.  I  also  am  proud, 
madame." 

The  old  woman  returned  his  bow,  but  was 
silent.  She  was  hurt,  angry,  alarmed.  She 
began  to  fear  those  handsome,  bold  eyes, 
and  the  smooth  voice ;  after  all,  he  was  like  a 
panther,  ready  to  spring,  and  her  beautiful 
darling,  the  idol  of  her  old  age  was  the  object 
of  his  desire.  But  for  that  fearful  danger, 
their  concealed  religion,  she  could  have  faced 
him  well  enough,  but  he  had  a  mighty  weapon 
in  his  hand,  and  she  almost  feared  that  he  knew 
it.  For  herself,  death  would  be  no  great  hard- 


A  DANGEROUS  SUIT  109 

ship,  but  for  Rosaline  —  she  shuddered,  press- 
ing her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  and  staring 
out  of  the  window.  Meanwhile  M.  de  Baudri 
watched  her  narrowly ;  he  knew  far  less  than  she 
thought,  but  he  was  fiercely  in  love  with  Rosa- 
line, and  such  love  as  his  was  as  dangerous  as 
hate.  The  girl's  indifference  enraged  him ; 
he  would  have  her,  and  then  —  Mother  of 
Heaven !  he  would  teach  her  to  scorn  him, 
indeed  !  He  would  break  her  will  and  humble 
her  into  his  slave.  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  felt  all 
this,  vaguely,  it  is  true,  but  still  strongly  enough 
to  make  her  recoil  from  him.  What  could  she 
do  ?  she  thought,  a  helpless  old  woman  with  all 
the  world  against  her !  Pere  Ambroise  loved 
the  child,  it  was  true,  but  might  not  Pere 
Ambroise  favor  an  orthodox  lover?  M.  de 
Baudri's  smooth  voice  broke  in  on  her  troubled 
thoughts,  and  demanded  her  attention  again. 

"  You  have  advanced  no  reasonable  objec- 
tions to  my  suit,  madame,"  he  said  affably;  "  I 
shall  therefore  regard  it  as  accepted  by  you, 
and  only  in  abeyance  on  account  of  mademoi- 
selle's maidenly  scruples." 

"  But  I  have  not  accepted  it,"  she  protested, 


I IO  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

greatly  troubled ;  "  I  will  not  accept  any  offer 
for  the  child  that  —  that  does  not  give  her  hap- 
piness. Why  should  I  desire  to  part  with  the 
jewel  of  my  old  age?  You  are  naturally  for- 
getful of  my  situation,  monsieur;  Rosaline's 
marriage  would  leave  me  desolate." 

"  Nay,  madame,"  he  replied,  not  ungracefully, 
"  you  would  but  gain  a  son.  If  this  is  your 
only  scruple  —  is  it  not  a  selfish  one?" 

Poor  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  was  fairly  cornered. 
He  saw  it  and  laughed  in  his  sleeve. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  M.  de  Baudri,"  she  fal- 
tered, "  but  after  all  it  rests  where  it  did.  Rosa- 
line must  decide." 

He  smiled.  "  Then,  madame,  you  virtually  ac- 
quiesce," he  said  blandly ;  "  for  I  trust  that  I  can 
win  so  young  and  amiable  a  girl  as  mademoiselle 
—  if  you  give  me  a  fair  opportunity." 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  "  You 
have  had  opportunity,  M.  de  Baudri,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "'tis  not  in  my  mind  to  influence  her 
in  any  way.  She  must  choose  for  herself." 

He  was  all  smooth  amiability  now;  he  took 
his  plumed  hat  from  the  table  and  stood  a 
moment  longer  on  the  hearth-rug,  the  picture 


A   DANGEROUS  SUIT  III 

of  ease  and  assurance,  —  his  curled  periwig,  his 
lace  cravat,  his  military  coat,  all  of  the  latest 
mode. 

"  I  will  undertake  to  win  mademoiselle's  con- 
sent," he  said.  "  Permit  me,  however,  to  remark 
that  your  ideas  on  the  matter  are  —  to  say  the 
least — unconventional.  But  no  matter,  'twill 
be  a  little  romance.  There  is  one  thing,  though, 
I  would  say,  madame,  and  that  is,  I  notice  with 
surprise  that  you  keep  that  fellow  as  steward 
still.  I  spoke  to  you  before." 

A  faint  flush  rose  on  the  old  dame's  pale  face 
and  her  eyes  kindled.  She  was  not  yet  accus- 
tomed to  dictation. 

"  The  man  is  useful  to  me,"  she  said  shortly. 
"  Monsieur  forgets  that  he  is  not  yet  one  of 
my  family." 

De  Baudri  bit  his  lip,  an  ugly  look  in  his  blue 
eyes. 

"  I  beg  madame's  pardon,"  he  said,  "  but  she 
probably  remembers  the  cause  of  my  protest; 
a  grave  one,  —  I  believe  the  rogue  may  be  a 
concealed  Camisard." 

Madame  de  St.  Cyr's  hands  trembled,  and  she 
controlled  herself  with  an  effort. 


112  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  M.  de  Baudri," 
the  protested ;  "  he  was  well  recommended,  and 
I  have  seen  nothing  to  indicate  —  that  he  was 
other  than  he  claimed  to  be." 

"  You  can  see  that  he  is  no  steward  by  pro- 
fession, though,  madame,"  retorted  the  officer, 
coolly,  "  and  his  presence  may  be  dangerous 
at  St.  Cyr." 

"  He  has  done  his  duty  so  far,  monsieur,"  she 
mustered  courage  to  reply,  "  and  I  have  no  pre- 
text for  his  discharge." 

De  Baudri  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Madame  should  not  need  a  second  warn- 
ing," he  remarked,  with  much  suavity ;  "  perhaps 
'twould  be  well  for  me  to  investigate  his  ante- 
cedents and  thus  relieve  madame  of  farther 
embarrassments." 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,"  she  said,  with  an 
effort  to  be  calm,  "  I  can  see  to  the  matter 
myself.  I  will  refer  it  to  Pere  Ambroise.  If 
any  one  is  anxious  about  our  spiritual  welfare, 
he  should  be." 

"  Doubtless,  madame,"  M.  de  Baudri  replied 
pleasantly,  "  but  Pere  Ambroise  is  notoriously 
easy-tempered.  I  should  advise  you  to  be  care- 


A   DANGEROUS  SUIT  113 

ful.  You  cannot  afford  to  harbor  a  heretic 
here;  a  word  to  M.  de  Baville — "  He  broke 
off,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

Madame  stirred  uneasily  in  her  chair.  Every 
word  that  he  had  uttered  had  been  a  covert 
threat,  and  she  knew  well  enough  to  what 
end  it  all  tended.  He  loved  Rosaline  and  he 
meant  to  have  her.  "  Mon  Dieu!"  thought 
the  old  woman,  "  he  would  have  the  child  even 
against  her  will !  Can  he  be  wicked  enough 
to  try  to  intimidate  her,  —  to  force  her  into  a 
marriage?" 

She  awoke  from  these  reflections  to  find  him 
making  his  adieux. 

"  I  have  warned  you,  madame,"  he  said  be- 
nignly. "  Convey  my  devotion  to  mademoiselle 
—  my  regret  that  she  is  absent  from  home  at 
this  hour.  I  will  soon  present  myself  again ; 
meanwhile,  madame,  rest  assured  of  my  faithful 
friendship." 

He  bowed  profoundly,  his  hand  again  on  his 
heart,  and  retired,  leaving  the  poor  old  woman 
collapsed  in  her  chair;  nor  did  she  breathe 
freely  until  she  heard  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
road  to  Nimes. 


1 14  THE   COBBLER   OF  NhfES 

Meanwhile  a  very  different  scene  had  been 
enacted  in  the  kitchen.  Babet  was  making  a 
rago&t  over  the  fire ;  the  steward  leaned  against 
the  window,  posted  there  to  watch  for  the  visi- 
tor's departure ;  the  hunchbacked  cobbler  was 
by  the  door,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
stood  mademoiselle  herself,  although  she  was 
supposed  to  be  out,  —  mademoiselle  in  flesh  and 
blood,  and  a  picture  to  look  at  in  her  malicious 
triumph  over  her  escape.  She  wore  a  white 
print  frock,  the  neck  open  enough  to  show  her 
full,  fair  throat,  and  the  half-sleeves  revealing  her 
round,  white  arms.  Her  golden  hair  had  half 
escaped  from  its  braids  and  rippled  about  her 
rosy,  dimpled  face,  and  her  blue  eyes  danced 
with  merriment.  It  was  her  birthday,  and  M.  de 
Baudri  had  brought  a  suitable  gift,  an  enamelled 
casket,  but  she  held  in  her  hands  two  little  white 
satin  shoes  with  pink  rosettes,  and  the  shoe- 
maker's drawn  face  was  lighted  with  a  reflection 
of  her  pleasure. 

"  You  are  surely  a  magician,  Chariot,"  she 
said,  admiring  them  for  the  twentieth  time. 
"  I  know  these  are  enchanted  slippers,  and  in 
them  I  shall  walk  into  the  palace  of  my  dreams, 


A  DANGEROUS  SUIT  115 

where  there  is  no  trouble,  and  Babet  and  I  do 
not  have  to  conjure  a  dinner ! " 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  if  I  could  but  make  such 
shoes  ! "  exclaimed  le  Bossu,  with  a  smile ;  "  the 
poor  cobbler  of  St.  Antoine  would  be  made  a 
marquis." 

"  'T  is  better  to  give  happiness  than  to  be 
rich,  Chariot,"  she  replied,  "  and  you  have  given 
me  so  much  pleasure  to-day  that  I  can  even  en- 
dure M.  de  Baudri's  visit  in  the  parlor !  "  and 
she  laughed  gayly. 

"  If  he  hears  you  laugh,  mademoiselle,  he 
will  stay  to  dinner,"  remarked  Babet  grimly, 
looking  over  her  shoulder  as  she  stirred  the 
stew. 

"  You  have  found  a  way  to  make  me  as  still 
as  a  mouse,  Babet,"  Rosaline  said.  "  Has  he  not 
gone  yet,  M.  d'Aguesseau  ?  " 

Francois  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"  As  a  suitor  he  has  the  patience  of  Jacob, 
mademoiselle,"  he  replied. 

Rosaline  made  a  little  grimace  and  blushed, 
turning  away  from  him  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. The  little  hunchback,  watching  the 
two,  read  her  mood  more  truly  than  she  read 


Il6  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

it  herself,  and  his  new-born  pleasure  died  out 
of  his  face. 

"  I  shall  wear  these  shoes  to-night,  Chariot," 
she  hastened  to  say,  her  back  turned  on  the 
supposed  steward.  "  They  are  fit  for  a  ball,  but 
I  never  go  to  balls,  so  I  will  wear  them  on  my 
birthday  as  the  greatest  honor  I  can  pay  them." 

"  Mademoiselle  makes  me  happy  by  wearing 
them  at  all,"  Chariot  replied  simply. 

D'Aguesseau  was  now  looking  intently  out  of 
the  window. 

"  M.  de  Baudri  is  mounting  at  the  gate,"  he 
announced.  "  Mademoiselle,  you  are  no  longer 
in  prison." 

She  would  not  look  at  him,  but  she  beamed 
on  the  little  cobbler. 

"  I  will  run  and  show  my  present  to  grand" 
m£re"  she  said. 

Chariot  followed  her  to  the  door. 

"  Mademoiselle,  a  word  with  you,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice. 

She  turned  in  surprise  and  then  beckoned 
to  him  to  follow  her  into  the  entry. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  quickly,  a  little 
alarmed. 


A   DANGEROUS  SUIT  1 1/ 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  do  not 
be  needlessly  afraid,  but  I  would  warn  you 
against  an  old  woman  —  a  fishwife  — 

"del!"  exclaimed  Rosaline;  "you  mean 
that  terrible  creature  who  came  here  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  she  was  angry  be- 
cause of  her  torn  petticoat,  I  suppose.  She  is 
Mere  Tigrane,  a  dangerous  woman,  a  spying, 
mischief-making  demon  of  the  market.  And 
—  well,  mademoiselle,  she  saw  M.  d'Aguesseau 
when  I  first  saw  him,  she  tracked  him  to  my 
house,  she  tracked  him  here.  I  fear  it  may 
mean  mischief;  if  he  goes  away  it  will  be  better 
for  all." 

Rosaline  was  very  pale ;  all  the  joy  died  out 
of  her  face ;  she  pressed  her  hand  involuntarily 
to  her  heart. 

"  I  thank  you,  Chariot,"  she  said  quietly. 
"If — if  you  hear  anything  —  you  will  tell 
me?" 

"  Assuredly,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  cob- 
bler earnestly,  "  and  — "  he  hesitated,  and  then 
went  on  firmly,  "  will  you  believe,  mademoiselle, 
that  in  all  cases  —  at  all  times —  I  am  your  hum- 
ble but  faithful  servant?" 


Il8  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

She  looked  at  him  kindly;  his  devotion 
touched  her. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  always  believed  it,  Chariot," 
she  said  heartily,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

The  shoemaker  took  it  with  wonder.  Her 
little  soft  hand  in  his !  He  had  never  dreamed 
of  it ;  he  had  touched  her  feet,  but  her  hand ! 
Poor  Chariot,  he  turned  red  to  his  temples  and 
did  not  know  what  she  said.  And  Rosaline  left 
him  and  went  on  to  her  grandmother  without  a 
thought  of  her  act  of  condescension.  She  was 
naturally  gracious,  and  she  did  not  despise  the 
poor  as  did  other  young  women  of  her  rank. 
But  the  poor  little  shoemaker  went  back  to 
Nimes  feeling  that  he  had  been  translated ;  had 
he  not  touched  the  white  hand  of  an  angel  of 
mercy? 


CHAPTER  XI 

FRANCOIS   MAKES   A   PLEDGE 

IT  was  half  an  hour  before  moonrise  and  the 
night  was  supremely  still.  The  warm  air  of 
midsummer  stirred  not  even  a  leaf  on  the  trees. 
There  was  no  sound  but  the  footsteps  of  three 
persons  walking  through  a  mulberry  grove  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  spot  where  the  highroad 
from  Nimes  turned  off  to  St.  Hippolyte.  Made- 
moiselle and  Babet,  escorted  by  M.  d'Aguesseau, 
were  making  their  way  slowly  back  to  St.  Cyr. 
They  had  been  —  at  the  peril  of  their  lives  —  to 
one  of  the  night  meetings  of  the  Church  of  the 
Desert  and  were  returning ;  cautiously  avoiding 
observation  all  the  while.  Babet  led  them,  her 
erect  form  moving  deliberately  forward ;  she 
never  made  a  misstep,  never  hesitated,  but  held 
to  her  course  in  grim  silence.  She  did  not  ap- 
prove of  their  guest's  attentions  to  mademoi- 
selle. D'Aguesseau  had  Rosaline's  hand  and 
was  guiding  her,  helping  her  over  rough  places, 


I2O  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

feeling  the  way  where  neither  of  them  could 
see.  They  talked  together  at  intervals,  in  low 
voices,  and  Babet's  ears  moved,  though  she 
would  have  sworn  that  she  scorned  to  listen ; 
but  she  was  guarding  her  ewe-lamb,  and  in  spite 
of  her  convictions  that  mademoiselle  must 
marry  a  prince,  she  began  to  be  afraid  of  this 
resolute,  quiet  man. 

They  walked  as  rapidly  as  they  could  in  the 
darkness,  and  leaving  the  trees  behind  turned 
sharply  to  the  right  across  an  arid  plain  that 
presented  many  rough  and  broken  places,  and 
where  Rosaline  required  d'Aguesseau's  helping 
hand  and  his  cautious  guidance.  Then  they 
followed  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream,  walking  over 
stones  and  sand,  always  avoiding  the  highroad, 
but  making  their  way  steadily  toward  St.  Cyr. 

"  It  seems  a  long  distance,"  Rosaline  said  at 
last  with  a  sigh. 

"  Long  and  dangerous  for  you,"  Francois  an- 
swered gently ;  "  I  would  that  we  could  have  per- 
suaded you  to  remain  at  home,  mademoiselle." 

"  Surely  you  would  not  have  robbed  me  of 
such  a  consolation  ?  "  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  Nay,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  know 


FRANQOIS  MAKES  A   PLEDGE  121 

that  I  would  do  anything  to  serve  you,  but  this 
was  a  terrible  risk.  MM.  de  Baville  and  Mon- 
trevel  are  both  watchful ;  both  suspect  that  these 
religious  meetings  are  held  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  at  any  time  the  troops  may  descend  upon 
that  old  quarry;  and  there  would  be  no 
quarter." 

"  Yet  we  must  serve  God,  monsieur,"  Rosaline 
said,  "even  as  Daniel  did  —  in  peril  of  the 
lion's  den ;  and  as  the  prophet  of  Israel  was 
delivered,  surely  the  remnant  of  this  people  will 
be  also  delivered.  Truly,  monsieur,  I  would 
rather  cast  in  my  lot  with  these  peasants,  en/ants 
de  Dieu,  than  live  as  I  do.  But  my  grand- 
mother is  too  old  and  too  feeble  for  the  wild  life 
of  the  Cevenols,  and  so  I  go  on  —  a  Papist  in 
Nimes,  a  Protestant  at  heart." 

"  You  would  join  these  people,  mademoiselle, 
yet  you  have  argued  against  me  when  I  have 
proposed  to  go  to  the  Cevennes." 

"You  are  under  a  pledge  to  go  to  England," 
she  returned  promptly ;  "  you  have  suffered 
enough.  The  time  will  come  quickly  for  all  of 
us,  I  suppose.  I  do  not  believe  that  this  decep- 
tion can  go  on.  If  the  soldiers  had  found  us 


122  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

to-night,  I  wonder  if  any  of  us  would  have 
escaped !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu ! "  he  murmured  softly,  "  how 
terrible  it  would  have  been.  The  sentinels  told 
me  that  there  were  two  hundred  and  fifty  women 
and  children  there,  besides  the  men  who  came 
with  Cavalier." 

"  It  would  have  been  death,"  she  said  dream- 
ily ;  "  we  can  die  but  once,  monsieur." 

"  You  would  not  have  died,"  he  answered 
sternly,  "  while  I  had  a  life  to  give  for  yours." 

She  was  silent,  but  he  felt  her  hand  quiver  in 
his.  He  could  not  see  her  face,  nor  could  she 
see  his,  but  each  felt  the  other's  deep  emotion. 
They  walked  on,  treading  carefully;  they  were 
skirting  the  edge  of  a  field  of  rye  on  the  border 
of  the  village  of  St.  Cesaire,  but  they  had  yet  to 
cross  a  rocky  elevation  before  they  could  reach 
the  chateau.  To  the  left,  the  lights  of  the  ham- 
let twinkled  like  fallen  stars,  and  they  heard  the 
dogs  baying  in  the  distance. 

Meanwhile  the  sky,  which  had  been  so  dark, 
became  softly  luminous,  a  whiteness  spread  over 
it,  the  stars  paled.  At  the  horizon,  the  moun- 
tains were  sharply  outlined,  black  against  the 


FRANQOIS  MAKES  A   PLEDGE  12$ 

growing  light,  while  the  earth  lay  in  darkness. 
Rosaline  and  her  companions  began  to  ascend 
a  steep  path,  and  as  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
slope  the  moon  rose  glorious  and  a  flood  of 
white  light  poured  a  searching  radiance  over  the 
scene.  The  white  rocks  cast  black  shadows,  and 
the  sandy  soil  beneath  their  feet  seemed  as  white 
as  chalk,  while  above  them  a  solitary  cedar 
stretched  its  branches,  dark  and  feathery,  against 
a  luminous  background.  Over  there  were  the 
spires  and  turrets  of  Nimes,  below  them  the  cot- 
tage roofs  of  St.  Cesaire,  around  them  a  wild 
and  barren  country,  suddenly  whitened  by  the 
moon. 

"  Mon  Dieti!"  exclaimed  Babet,  harshly,  "  't  is 
a  white  night  —  white  as  a  winding-sheet !  'T  is 
ill  luck,  mademoiselle;  let  us  hurry — a  dog  is 
baying  at  the  moon." 

Rosaline's  mood  changed,  and  for  the  first 
time  that  night  she  laughed  naturally  and 
sweetly. 

"  You  foolish  Babet !  "  she  said,  "  it  is  a  glori- 
ous night,  and  you  have  been  to  prayers.  Where 
is  your  courage?  " 

Babet  shrugged  her  shoulders.    "  I  Ve  courage 


124  THE   COBBLER   OF 

enough,  mademoiselle,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do  not 
love  to  thrust  my  head  into  the  lion's  mouth." 

With  this  remark  she  went  on  again,  leaving 
the    others   to    follow.     To    Babet    there    were 
many  things  more  important  than  a  fine  scene  by 
moonlight,  and  she  did  not  approve  of  the  slow  f 
progress  made  by  her  mistress  and  her  escort. 

"  A  faithful  servant,"  remarked  Rosaline,  fol- 
lowing her  with  her  eyes.  "  She  was  my  nurse 
when  I  was  a  baby,  and  she  treats  me  as  a  child. 
Doubtless,  monsieur,  you  think  that  we  lead  a 
strange  life  at  St.  Cyr.  I  fancy  it  is  very  differ- 
ent from  the  lives  of  other  women  of  our  rank, 
but  what  else  can  we  do?  We  are  poor,  and  we 
are  glad  of  our  humble  friend  Babet;  indeed, 
I  think  that  she  and  the  little  cobbler,  Chariot, 
are  our  most  devoted  allies.  After  all,  I  imagine 
that  grand  'mtre  and  I  would  be  very  unhappy 
if  we  were  surrounded  with  state,  and  had  all  our 
sweet  liberty  restricted.  Were  you  ever  at  Ver- 
sailles, monsieur?" 

"  But  once,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  went  to  try 
to  see  the  king.  I  wanted  to  petition  him  for 
my  innocent  sister's  liberty — that  I  might  take 
her  place." 


FRANCOIS  MAKES  A   PLEDGE  125 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  Rosaline  exclaimed ;  "  I  did 
not  think  of  the  pain  I  should  give.  Tell  me," 
she  went  on  hurriedly,  "  have  you  ever  seen 
Cavalier  or  Roland?  To-night,  in  the  darkness, 
I  wanted  to  see  him ;  't  is  true  that  they  lighted 
the  torches  about  him,  but  in  that  wild  illumi- 
nation I  made  out  nothing  except  that  he  ap- 
peared a  boy.  But  he  did  not  speak  like  one  !  " 

"  He  looked  very  young,"  Francois  replied ; 
"  but  there  is  a  certain  force  about  him.  I 
never  saw  him  before,  but  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
him,  or  the  poor,  crazed  girl." 

"  Did  you  think  her  demented  ?  "  asked  Rosa- 
line. "  To  me  she  seemed  inspired,  and  surely 
she  preached  a  wonderful  sermon ;  still,  as  you 
say,  she  spoke  wildly." 

"  I  thought  her  demented,"  he  rejoined 
quietly ;  "  there  are  so  many  of  these  young  girls 
prophesying.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  more 
the  result  of  suffering,  of  the  horrible  spectacles 
they  have  witnessed,  than  a  touch  of  sacred  in- 
spiration." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  she  admitted,  reluctantly, 
"  but  surely  such  times  as  these  might  well  pro- 
duce prophets  and  soothsayers." 


126  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

They  were  in  sight  of  the  chateau  now  and 
saw  the  light  burning  in  Madame  de  St.  Cyr's 
room.  She  was  too  feeble  to  go  out  on  such 
perilous  expeditions  and  had  remained  behind 
in  fear  and  trembling,  praying  for  their  safe 
return.  When  Babet  opened  the  wicket-gate 
they  were  greeted  by  Truffe's  warning  bark,  and 
she  was  at  the  door  to  greet  them  with  noisy 
joy.  Rosaline  and  M.  d'Aguesseau  went  to 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr  to  tell  her  of  the  congre- 
gation, and  Babet  retired  to  her  own  domain  to 
meditate  in  solitude  on  mademoiselle  and  their 
visitor. 

Rosaline  recounted  their  visit  to  the  quarry 
where  the  Camisards  met,  and  old  madame  lis- 
tened with  eagerness,  her  pale  face  unusually 
animated.  She  wanted  to  hear  everything, 
Cavalier's  speech,  the  sermon  of  the  young  girl, 
—  one  of  the  prophets  of  the  Cevenols,  —  the 
prayer  offered  by  one  of  the  ministers,  the 
psalms  they  sang.  But  she  shook  her  head 
when  she  heard  that  Cavalier  had  sent  word  to 
M.  Montrevel  that  for  every  Protestant  village 
that  the  mar6chal  destroyed,  he,  Cavalier,  would 
destroy  two  Papist  villages. 


FRANQOIS  MAKES  A  PLEDGE  I2/ 

"Twill  be  useless,"  she  said  quietly;  "the 
king  will  pour  his  soldiers  upon  us,  and  Langue- 
doc  will  be  laid  waste ;  we  cannot  prevail 
against  such  power.  My  husband  always  said 
so,  and  my  son.  They  used  to  say  that  if  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  should  be  revoked,  the  Protes- 
tants would  soon  be  destroyed.  It  will  be  so  — 
I  have  felt  it  from  the  first." 

"  Ah,  grwuFmbv,  you  are  not  hopeful 
enough,"  Rosaline  said;  "see  what  these  two 
men  —  Cavalier  and  Roland  —  have  already  ac- 
complished. Let  us  hope  that  England  will 
help  us." 

Madame  shook  her  head.  "  The  world  is 
selfish,"  she  said  quietly ;  then  she  glanced  at 
the  clock.  "  Rosaline,  call  Babet,"  she  said ; 
"  't  is  the  hour  for  our  devotions." 

The  housekeeper  was  summoned,  while  Fran- 
cois looked  carefully  at  the  windows  and  saw 
that  all  the  shutters  were  fastened.  Then  the 
little  company  joined  in  evening  prayer,  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr  reading  a  chapter  from  the  Bible. 
They  did  not  sing;  not  even  in  that  secluded 
spot  did  they  dare  to  give  voice  to  one  of  Marot's 
psalms,  for  they  did  not  know  what  ear  might 


128  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

be  listening  in  the  night.  When  it  was  over  the 
grandmother  bade  Rosaline  good-night  and  sent 
her  away  with  Babet,  but  she  detained  d'Agues- 
seau.  When  they  were  alone  she  turned  to  him 
with  a  sad  face. 

"  I  fear  that  trouble  is  brewing,  monsieur," 
she  said  quietly ;  "  the  very  presence  of  Cavalier 
near  Nimes  increases  our  perils,  and  there  too 
are  the  Florentines,  —  the  White  Camisards,  as 
they  call  themselves,  —  ruffians,  in  fact,  banded 
together  to  hunt  us  down.  I  see  nothing  but 
danger  and  death  on  every  side.  For  myself,  I 
no  longer  fear,"  she  added  with  sorrowful  dig- 
nity ;  "  I  know  that  I  have  but  a  little  while  to 
live,  and  I  would  die  right  cheerfully  for  my  re- 
ligion, but  Rosaline  —  man  Dieu!"  she  clasped 
her  hands  and  looked  up. 

"Madame,  if  I  can  protect  her  — "  began 
Francois. 

"  That  is  what  I  would  pray  for,  monsieur," 
she  said.  "  If  I  am  taken,  will  you  aid  Babet  to 
get  her  out  of  France?  " 

"  I  would  give  my  life  for  hers  !  "  he  answered 
gravely. 

The  old  woman  looked  up  at  his  resolute  face, 


FRANQOIS  MAKES  A   PLEDGE  12$ 

at  the  light  in  his  eyes,  and  bowed  her  own  face 
in  her  hands. 

"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  do 
solemnly  pledge  myself  to  defend  her  —  to  take 
her  away  to  a  place  of  safety  —  to  fight  for  her 
as  long  as  I  live  myself." 

She  looked  up  through  her  tears. 

"  I  thank  the  bon  Dieu  !  "  she  said.  "  To-day 
men  are  like  wolves  toward  our  lambs.  You 
see  how  gentle,  how  innocent  the  child  is." 

She  held  out  her  thin,  white  hand  and  he 
took  it,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  gently,  "  I  love  her." 

The  old  face  quivered  and  flushed  a  little, 
but  she  was  touched. 

"  I  know  not  how  the  child  may  feel,"  she 
said  simply,  "  but  I  knew  your  family,  and  —  I 
am  content  that  it  should  be  so.  Heaven  may 
have  sent  you  to  be  her  defender,  for  I  do 
greatly  fear  that  the  hour  of  danger  draws 
nigh." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   FINGER   OF   FATE 

THE  months  of  the  terrible  summer  of  1703 
waned,  and  autumn  came.  Fire  and  sword  had 
laid  waste  in  Languedoc.  It  had  been  a  reign 
of  terror.  The  chieftains  of  the  Camisards 
sweeping  down  from  the  Cevennes  carried  the 
war  almost  to  the  sea;  priests  were  slain, 
Catholic  villages  burned.  On  the  other  side, 
the  king's  soldiers  poured  into  the  devoted 
country,  and  the  Huguenots  were  hunted  far 
and  wide.  The  galleys  at  Marseilles  were 
crowded,  the  jails  were  packed,  the  gallows  in 
constant  use ;  the  women  and  children  were 
sent  to  convents  and  prisons,  and  the  desolate 
country  threatened  famine,  with  no  man  to 
till  the  soil,  and  no  woman  to  bind  the  sheaves. 
Still  it  went  on,  that  cruel  war  for  religion's 
sake,  and  the  blood  of  the  innocent  was  poured 
out  as  a  libation. 

Nimes  was  thronged  with  soldiers,  the  markets 
were  crowded,  the  busy  life  choked  the  marts, 


THE  FINGER  OF  FATE  131 

but  the  open  country  was  stricken ;  even  the 
valley  of  the  Vaunage  —  "  the  little  Canaan  "  of 
Languedoc  —  had  suffered.  In  the  court  of  the 
Rue  St.  Antoine,  the  little  cobbler  mended 
the  shoes  of  the  soldiers,  and  out  at  St.  Cyr 
only  one  or  two  late  roses  were  blooming,  and 
the  bees  had  stored  their  honey  for  winter. 
The  every-day  life  went  on ;  the  steward  was 
still  there,  chained  by  invisible  links  now ;  he 
scarcely  thought  of  leaving  France,  and  he 
knew  that  he  might  be  needed,  for  Madame  de  St. 
Cyr  was  failing  fast.  She  had  had  an  attack  of 
heart  disease,  and  sat  in  her  chair  all  day,  with- 
out strength  to  take  her  accustomed  part  in 
affairs.  M.  de  Baudri  still  came,  a  persistent 
and  undaunted  suitor,  and  Pere  Ambroise  made 
his  regular  visits,  walking  in  the  garden  with 
Rosaline,  and  discoursing  on  the  perils  of 
heresy,  but  closing  his  eyes  to  suspicious  cir- 
cumstances. He  always  walked  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  his  large  black  figure  seeming  to 
absorb  a  good  deal  of  the  sunlight,  and  a  smile 
on  his  round,  rosy  face.  What  was  the  use, 
after  all,  of  making  that  poor  old  woman 
wretched?  he  argued  comfortably,  and  he  did 


132  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

not  force  religious  consolation  upon  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr.  He  was  willing  to  let  the  heretic 
burn  in  the  next  world,  and  she  blessed  him  in 
her  heart  every  time  she  looked  out  at  him  as 
he  ambled  through  the  maze  of  hedges. 

There  had  been  a  season  of  quiet,  a  brief 
interval  in  the  clash  of  war,  and  the  family  at 
St.  Cyr  breathed  more  freely.  Fear  and  sus- 
picion seemed  dormant,  and  Rosaline's  laugh 
came  more  readily,  except  when  she  saw  how 
feeble  her  grandmother  looked. 

It  was  the  last  of  October,  and  the  three, 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr,  her  granddaughter,  and 
Francois  d'Aguesseau  had  just  finished  the 
midday  meal.  It  was  a  golden  day,  almost  as 
warm  as  summer,  and  a  monthly  rose  swung  its 
blossoms  over  the  window-sill.  M.  d'Aguesseau 
had  been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a  com- 
munication with  his  friends  in  England,  and 
had  received  a  remittance  which  enabled  him 
to  pay  his  debts  and  to  provide  for  the  future. 
But  he  said  nothing  of  a  change,  for  he  saw  that 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr  was  unable  to  travel,  and  he 
would  not  quit  Languedoc  while  Rosaline  was 
surrounded  with  so  many  dangers.  They  were 


THE  FINGER   OF  FATE  133 

talking  of  every-day  matters,  of  the  approach 
of  winter,  of  the  chances  for  the  success  of  the 
insurrection,  when  they  were  startled  by  the 
tramping  of  a  body  of  horse  in  the  road,  and 
the  sharp  call  of  a  bugle.  Madame's  face  paled 
and  Rosaline  and  d'Aguesseau  sprang  to  their 
feet.  She  ran  ahead  of  him  out  at  the  door  and 
down  the  path  to  an  opening  in  the  hedge 
which  afforded  a  view  of  the  highway. 

"Tis  M.  de  Baudri  at  the  head  of  his 
dragoons !  "  she  exclaimed,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand  and  looking  out. 

A  company  of  dragoons  were  filing  along  the 
road,  the  even  gait  of  the  cavalry  horses  keep- 
ing the  whole  line  swinging  on  to  the  sound  of 
the  bugle.  The  gay  uniforms  were  soiled  and 
there  were  powder  stains,  and  in  the  centre  of 
the  troop  were  six  prisoners,  —  grim-looking 
men,  in  the  garb  of  peasants  with  the  blouse  of 
the  Camisards,  and  bound,  their  arms  tied  behind 
their  backs  and  their  feet  tied  under  the  bellies 
of  their  horses.  At  the  sight  of  them  Rosaline 
drew  back  with  a  shudder,  but  it  was  too  late ; 
M.  de  Baudri  had  seen  her  and  drew  rein,  salut- 
ing her  with  unruffled  composure.  As  he 


134  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

paused,  the  cavalcade  halted  opposite  the  gate, 
bringing  the  prisoners  in  full  view  of  the  chateau. 
They  did  not  look  to  the  right  or  left,  however, 
but  stared  grimly  before  them.  Of  the  six,  five 
were  wounded,  and  the  blood  flowed  from  an  un- 
bandaged  wound  on  one  man's  head.  Faint  from 
the  loss  of  it,  he  reeled  in  his  saddle,  but  uttered 
no  complaint.  Meanwhile  M.  de  Baudri  sat 
erect  on  his  spirited  horse,  his  head  uncovered, 
his  rich  uniform  spotless,  and  his  periwig  freshly 
curled.  He  looked  smilingly  into  Rosaline's 
pale  face. 

"  A  fair  good  morning,  my  Rose  of  Lan- 
guedoc,"  he  said  gallantly,  speaking  too  low 
for  the  ears  of  his  dragoons ;  "  I  count  it  for- 
tunate when  even  my  duty  takes  me  past  your 
door." 

She  curtsied,  her  blue  eyes  looking  straight 
before  her  and  her  lips  firmly  closed.  She  was 
controlling  herself  with  a  mighty  effort. 

"  Monsieur  has  surely  unpleasant  duties,"  she 
said  formally. 

"  The  gayest  in  the  world,"  he  replied  with  a 
careless  laugh.  "  We  have  cleaned  out  a  cave  full 
of  Barbets  this  morning,  and  hung  the  leader  be- 


THE  FINGER   OF  FATE  135 

cause  he  had  the  boldness  to  be  shot  in  action. 
We  swung  his  dead  body  on  a  chestnut  tree  — 
it  hangs  there  with  the  burrs  ready  to  ripen. 
Nom  de  St.  Denis  !  "  he  added,  with  a  glance  at 
his  prisoners,  "  these  fellows  would  have  been 
lucky  to  hang  there  too  !  " 

Rosaline  could  endure  no  more. 

" Mon  Dieu!"  she  cried,  "are  you  human? 
Can  you  see  that  poor  man  bleed  to  death?" 

De  Baudri  turned  in  his  saddle  and  stared  in- 
differently at  the  sufferer. 

"  A  heretic,  mademoiselle,"  he  remarked,  with 
a  gesture  of  disdain ;  "  what  would  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  bind  his  wounds !  "  she  retorted, 
taking  a  step  nearer  the  gate ;  but  the  sight  had 
sickened  her,  the  scene  swam  before  her  eyes, 
she  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  Francois, 
who  had  been  standing  a  few  yards  behind  her, 
and  who  now  sprang  forward  and  caught  her  in 
his  arms. 

"Why  do  you  exhibit  such  cruelties  to  her?" 
he  demanded  sharply,  looking  over  her  head 
into  de  Baudri's  eyes. 

The  latter  had  made  a  motion  as  if  to  spring 
from  the  saddle  at  the  sight  of  Rosaline's  white 


136  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

face,  but  now  he  straightened  himself  and  re- 
turned the  other's  look  with  disdain. 

"  So  !  "  he  said  with  a  sneer,  "  the  menial  turns 
into  a  champion.  Mtre  dc  Dieu,  Sir  Camisard, 
we  will  be  pleased  to  accommodate  you  in 
Nimes." 

"  You  may  sometime  have  that  pleasure,  M. 
de  Baudri,"  d'Aguesseau  replied,  coldly,  and 
lifting  Rosaline's  unconscious  form  in  his  arms, 
he  carried  her  back  into  the  house. 

The  soldier  remained  a  moment  staring  after 
them,  his  blue  eyes  on  fire,  then  he  recollected 
where  he  was  and  gave  an  order.  The  bugle 
sounded  "  Forward  !  "  and  the  troop  disappeared 
along  the  highroad  to  Nimes,  leaving  a  cloud 
of  dust  in  its  track. 

Meanwhile  d'Aguesseau,  fearing  to  alarm 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr,  carried  Rosaline  into  the 
hall  and  summoned  Babet.  But  the  girl  began 
to  recover  without  any  ministrations,  and  sat  up 
on  the  high  settle  by  the  door,  the  soft  air  re- 
viving her;  but  her  joyous  mood  was  gone, 
she  looked  out  into  the  garden  with  unseeing 
eyes. 

"  Alas !  "  she    said    faintly,    "  I    have    been 


THE  F2NGEK   OF  FATE  137 

happy  —  and  all  this  misery  at  my  door  !  I 
live  a  lie  secure,  and  these  martyrs  die  for  their 
religion.  What  a  poor  creature  I  am !  " 

Babet  stood  looking  at  her  with  a  grim  face ; 
d'Aguesseau  was  silent,  his  own  conscience 
accusing  him. 

"  It  will  not  last,"  Rosaline  went  on  slowly, 
"  I  feel  that  trouble  is  coming  to  us !  What 
right  have  we  to  stand  by  and  see  it  all  and  re- 
joice in  our  false  security.  Ah,  mon  Dieu,  that 
poor  man !  " 

"  It 's  no  use  to  seek  trouble,  mademoiselle," 
Babet  remarked,  "  it  '11  find  us  fast  enough.  I 
hear  it  grumbling  like  the  thunder  in  the 
Cevennes  mountains.  As  for  that  poor  man, 
never  you  mind ;  Cavalier  will  catch  some  fat 
old  cure  for  him !  " 

Retaliation  was  a  salve  to  Babet's  moods ;  she 
was  no  saint  and  had  no  longing  to  be  a  martyr. 
Rosaline  shook  her  head. 

"  It  must  end,"  she  said,  rising.  "  I  will  go 
to  my  grandmother.  You  may  cut  the  flowers 
to-day,  Babet." 

She  passed  d'Aguesseau  without  a  word; 
her  emotion  seemed  to  have  separated  her 


138  THE   COBBLER   OF  N^MES 

from   him,  and  all  that  day  she  was  sad  and 
preoccupied. 

As  for  Francois  d'Aguesseau,  he  went  out 
through  the  garden  and  passing  the  mulberry 
trees,  descended  a  steep  slope  to  the  banks  of 
a  stream  which  flowed  behind  St.  Cyr.  Follow- 
ing this,  he  passed  through  a  little  forest  of 
chestnut  trees,  heavily  laden  with  green  burrs, 
and  came  at  last  to  a  deserted  windmill.  The 
tower  was  white  and  solid,  and  the  wheel  still 
surmounted  it  though  broken  in  several  places, 
but  the  mill  had  long  been  unused.  The  door 
stood  open  —  on  rusty  hinges  —  and  a  heap  of 
straw  lay  in  one  corner,  doubtless  the  resting- 
place  of  many  a  vagrant  in  those  evil  times.  On 
the  threshold  d'Aguesseau  sat  down,  facing  the 
stream  and  the  mossy  slope.  It  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  his,  because  of  its  solitude  and  stillness. 
Here  many  a  battle  of  the  heart  had  been 
fought  out,  and  here  he  came  now  to  face  another 
crisis.  He  sat  there  a  long  while,  and  it  was 
very  quiet.  Now  and  then  a  chestnut  burr  fell 
with  a  soft  thud  in  the  little  grove  behind  him ; 
a  squirrel  came  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  and 
then  leaped  away;  a  fish  jumped  out  of  the 


THE  FINGER   OF  FATE  139 

water  and  then  plunged  down  again.  Presently 
the  breeze  freshened,  the  old  windmill  creaked 
as  it  turned  a  little,  and  the  leaves  rustled 
softly.  At  last  the  sun  sank  lower  in  the  west 
and  sent  long  rays  of  light  through  the  trees, 
and  the  clouds  overhead  grew  rosy. 

Frangois  rose  and  walked  toward  the  chateau  ; 
he  was  resolved  to  live  thus  no  longer.  His 
presence  was  now  more  of  a  menace  than  a 
protection  to  the  women  there.  He  had  read 
the  look  in  M.  de  Baudri's  eyes,  and  he  knew 
that  he  might  expect  the  worst  that  a  relentless 
enemy  could  do.  But  it  was  not  that ;  Rosa- 
line's words  had  struck  home.  He  too  had  been 
living  a  lie  in  security ;  he  too  felt  himself  a 
miserable  coward  before  the  self-devotion  of 
these  poor  peasants  and  wool-carders.  He 
must  draw  his  sword  for  this  forlorn  hope ; 
he  must  leave  St.  Cyr  —  ah,  there  was  the 
pang!  Could  he  protect  her  at  a  distance? 
Could  he  watch  over  her  welfare  while  he  fought 
with  the  Camisards?  That  was  the  chain  that 
had  held  him,  and  now  even  that  must  be 
broken. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   BATTLE   HYMN 

THAT  night,  when  the  shutters  were  closed 
and  the  doors  secured,  the  family  sat  in  an 
upper  room.  Babet  had  come  in  to  hear  the 
Bible  read  by  Madame  de  St.  Cyr,  and  they 
were  all  grouped  about  the  table  where  the 
candles  were  burning.  The  old  woman  was 
reading  in  a  low  voice,  with  many  pauses,  and 
the  faces  around  her  were  grave  and  even  sad 
as  they  listened.  Suddenly  the  dog  sprang  up 
from  her  place  at  Rosaline's  feet  and  began  to 
bark,  and  the  reading  ceased. 

"  What  is  it?  I  hear  something  ! "  exclaimed 
the  young  girl,  trying  to  silence  Truffe. 

Babet  was  listening  intently. 

"  I  hear  the  sound  of  many  feet,"  she  said. 

D'Aguesseau  rose  and  went  to  the  window 
and,  unfastening  the  shutter,  looked  out.  The 
moon  was  struggling  to  shine  through  drift- 
ing clouds ;  one  moment  the  world  was  lighted, 


THE  BATTLE  HYMN  141 

the  next  it  lay  in  darkness.  In  one  of  these 
intervals  of  illumination  he  saw  the  scene  with- 
out plainly  enough.  The  garden  lay  below  the 
window,  and  beyond  was  a  view  of  the  highroad, 
the  sloping  plain,  and  farther  off  the  village  of 
St.  Ce"saire.  He  could  hear  the  sound  of  march- 
ing men,  and  as  he  looked  they  came  in  sight  on 
the  road,  filing  slowly  past  the  chateau,  line  after 
line,  their  weapons  gleaming  in  the  moonshine. 
He  watched  them  curiously;  these  were  not  the 
dragoons,  —  he  could  distinguish  the  rough  and 
ragged  appearance  of  the  men  even  from  a  dis- 
tance. He  closed  the  shutter  and  turned  toward 
the  women  with  a  flush  on  his  face ;  his  oppor- 
tunity was  at  hand. 

"They  are  passing  the  chateau,"  he  said,  in  a 
reassuring  tone,  "  I  will  go  out  and  ascertain 
who  they  are.  I  think  I  cannot  be  mistaken 
in  them." 

Rosaline's  blue  eyes  kindled. 

"  Are  they  Camisards?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  replied  as  he  left  the  room. 

The  next  moment  they  heard  him  go  out,  and 
Rosaline  went  to  the  window  to  watch.  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr's  face  was  very  pale. 


142  THE    COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

"  They  may  be  Florentines,"  she  said,  "  and  if 
so  —  we  shall  scarcely  escape  them." 

"  They  have  halted,"  her  granddaughter  re- 
plied from  the  window.  "  The  clouds  have 
drifted  wide  apart  now  and  the  night  is  as 
white  as  that  night  which  frightened  you,  Babet. 
M.  d'Aguesseau  has  gone  out  to  them." 

"  The  bon  Dieu  defend  us ! "  murmured 
madame ;  "  the  times  are  very  evil ;  "  and  she 
fell  to  praying  silently. 

Babet  was  kneeling  on  the  floor,  with  Truffe's 
head  smothered  in  her  apron  to  hush  the  dog's 
bark.  Rosaline  leaned  against  the  window  frame 
looking  out,  the  moonlight  outlining  her  slender 
figure. 

"  M.  d'Aguesseau  talks  with  one  of  them,"  she 
said.  "  del!  how  ghastly  their  faces  look  in 
this  light  —  like  chalk  —  and  I  see  everywhere 
the  flash  of  steel." 

"Can  you  make  out  who  they  are?"  asked 
her  grandmother,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  Nay,"  she  replied,  "  but  M.  d'Aguesseau  is 
friendly  with  them,  —  I  can  see  that ;  he  has 
shaken  hands  with  one  who  seems  to  be  a 
leader." 


THE  BATTLE   HYMN  143 

"  It  is  well,"  said  madame,  in  a  tone  of  relief; 
"  they  must  be  of  our  people." 

The  night  was  very  still  and  the  three  women 
listened,  but  they  did  not  distinguish  the  words 
that  were  spoken,  though  they  heard  the  voices. 

"  Does  M.  d'Aguesseau  still  speak  with 
them  ?  "  the  old  woman  asked. 

"  He  is  coming  back  alone,"  Rosaline  replied 
in  a  low  tone ;  and  she  did  not  leave  her  post 
when  she  heard  him  coming  up  the  stairs. 

He  entered  the  room  quietly,  though  he  had 
his  sword  in  his  hand. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  came  back  to  reassure 
you.  These  men  are  Camisards,  led  by  Cavalier 
himself,  and  they  are  on  their  way  to  cut  off 
a  train  of  ammunition  that  is  leaving  Nimes  for 
St.  Hippolyte.  There  will  be  a  fight,  but  not  very 
near  here,  I  trust,  and  I  believe  you  will  be  in 
safety.  For  myself,  madame,  I  go  with  them." 

The  old  woman  clasped  her  hands  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said,  "  I  sent  out  my  two  soldiers 
to  die  for  their  king,  and  I  cannot  bid  you  stay, 
since  you  go  to  fight  in  the  cause  of  the  King  of 
kings,  but  I  grieve  to  part  with  you  thus." 


144  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  you  have  been  as  good 
to  me  as  a  mother,  in  my  extremity,  and  I  will 
not  forget  your  kindness.  May  God  give  me 
the  opportunity  to  requite  it.  I  must  strike  a 
good  blow  in  the  cause  of  my  brethren,  but  I 
shall  not  forget  my  duty  to  you  —  and  yours." 

Tears  fell  on  her  white  cheeks,  and  she  gave 
him  her  blessing. 

Leaving  her,  he  walked  over  to  the  window 
where  the  young  girl  had  remained  motionless  as 
a  statue,  her  face  set  toward  the  scene  without. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  very  low,  "  I  bid 
you  adieu.  I  know  that  you  have  thought  me 
lacking  in  the  spirit  to  fight  —  but  believe  me, 
it  was  not  cowardice  that  held  me  at  St.  Cyr." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  blue  eyes  clear 
and  fearless. 

"  The  cause  is  sacred,"  she  said.  "  I  —  I  am 
glad  that  —  " 

She  broke  off,  and  he  filled  up  the  sentence. 

"  Glad  that  I  have  the  courage  to  go,"  he 
said  coldly. 

"  I  never  doubted  that,"  she  replied  gravely; 
"  but  oh,  monsieur,  if  I  could  be  a  man,  I  would 


THE  BATTLE  HYMN  145 

fight  —  I  can  understand  how  you  feel  —  the 
bon  Dieu  defend  you  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  sadly,  and  seemed 
to  hesitate ;  then  he  turned  and  went  quietly 
away,  leaving  her  standing  there  tongue-tied, 
her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  hot  tears.  What 
had  she  done?  she  thought,  as  he  went  down 
and  out  into  the  night.  What  had  she  done? 

Her  grandmother's  voice  roused  her. 

" Has  he  gone  to  them?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Yes,"  Rosaline  replied,  "  and  they  are  form- 
ing in  columns  again,  —  they  are  going  to 
march  on." 

There  was  a  pause;  the  women  could  hear 
that  there  were  some  orders  given  and  then 
it  was  strangely  quiet,  the  men  standing  like 
statues  in  the  road.  The  clouds  drifted  over  the 
moon  and  darkness  enveloped  the  scene  again, 
and  out  of  that  still  night  arose  the  murmur  of 
many  voices,  a  volume  of  sound,  throbbing  and 
gaining  strength  and  sweetness  and  solemnity. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Rosaline,  raising  her  hand, 
"  the  Sixty-eighth  Psalm  —  the  battle  hymn." 

Full  and  strong  it  rose,  every  word  poured 
out  from  the  hearts  of  those  stern  men,  and  in 

10 


146  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

that  lonely  spot,  in  the  darkness,  the  sound  was 
profoundly  solemn.  Softly  at  first,  and  then 
sweetly  and  fearlessly,  Rosaline  joined  them, 
her  rich  young  voice  floating  out  to  mingle 
with  the  song  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Que  Dieu  se  montre  seulement 
Et  Ton  verra  dans  un  moment 

Abandonner  la  place  ; 
Le  camp  des  ennemis  e*pars, 
Epouvante*  de  toutes  parts, 

Fuira  devant  sa  face. 

"  On  verra  tout  ce  camp  s'enfuir, 
Comme  Ton  voit  s'e'vanouir 

Une  e'paisse  fume'e ; 
Comme  la  cire  fond  au  feu, 
Ainsi  des  mdchants  devant  Dieu, 
La  force  est  consume'e. 

"  L'Eternel  est  notre  recours  ; 
Nous  obtenons  par  son  secours, 

Plus  d'une  delivrance. 
C'est  Lui  qui  fut  notre  support, 
Et  qui  tient  les  clefs  de  la  mort, 

Lui  seul  en  sa  puissance. 

"A  nous  de*fendre  toujours  promp 
II  frappe  le  superbe  front 
De  la  troupe  ennemie ; 
On  verra  tomber  sous  ses  coups 
Ceux  qui  provoquent  son  courroux 
Par  leur  me'chante  vie." 


THE  BATTLE  HYMN  147 

The  last  verses  grew  softer  as  they  marched 
away,  and  the  singing  died  at  last  in  the 
distance. 

Rosaline  remained  at  her  post,  straining  her 
eyes  to  search  the  darkness,  and  Babet,  releas- 
ing Trufife,  came  and  stood  beside  her.  They 
could  see  the  distant  lights  of  St.  Cesaire,  and 
this  window  in  the  daytime  commanded  a  view 
of  the  road  that  led  in  the  direction  of  St. 
Hippolyte.  It  was  an  hour  of  suspense,  and 
none  of  the  women  thought  of  sleep.  Old 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr  lay  back  in  her  chair, 
engaged  in  silent  devotion,  and  the  others 
watched  and  watched  with  tireless  eagerness. 
The  very  stillness  was  oppressive,  and  the 
darkness  now  was  like  a  pall,  close  over  the 
earth. 

"  del!"  said  Babet,  "  how  quiet  it  is  !  —  and 
black  as  soot.  I  wonder  how  many  men  he 
had?" 

"  There  seemed  to  be  an  army,"  replied 
Rosaline,  "  but  I  suppose  it  could  not  be  that 
he  had  more  than  a  thousand  men,  perhaps  not 
so  many,  and  Nimes  is  a  hive  of  soldiers !  " 

"Bah  !  "  ejaculated  the  other  woman,  grimly, 


148  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

"Cavalier  can  whip  them  —  he'll  have  M. 
Montrevel's  periwig  yet." 

Rosaline  did  not  reply,  her  mind  was  else- 
where ;  she  was  thinking  of  that  dangerous 
march  into  the  enemy's  country,  of  the  fight 
that  must  ensue. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  distant  sound  —  the 
fire  of  musketry  —  the  first  clash  of  battle, 
borne  to  them  on  the  night  air,  and  at  the 
same  moment  they  saw  the  lights  flashing  red 
in  St.  Cesaire. 

"  They  have  met  the  enemy !  "  Rosaline  ex- 
claimed, straining  her  eyes  and  ears  and  leaning 
out  of  the  window. 

They  could  hear  firing  quite  plainly  now; 
and  presently  far  off  they  saw  a  blaze  kindled, 
and  then  the  flames  leaped  up  into  the  night, 
like  fiery  swords  cutting  the  blackness  in  twain. 

"  They  have  set  fire  to  the  old  chateau  over 
there,"  Rosaline  said. 

Madame  de  St.  Cyr  turned  in  her  chair. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  see,"  she  exclaimed 
eagerly. 

"Fire,  grand' mere,  leaping  up  in  the  night, 
and  I  hear  the  guns,"  Rosaline  replied,  "  and 


THE  BATTLE  HYMN  149 

now  —  see,  see,  Babet !  —  there  are  black  figures 
outlined  against  the  flames !  Ah,  Dieu,  they 
fight !  —  't  is  a  part  of  the  battle  —  oh,  if  I  could 
but  see  it  plainly  !  " 

The  rattle  of  small  arms  came  to  them,  and 
now  the  boom  of  heavier  guns. 

"They  have  brought  artillery  from  Nimes," 
said  Rosaline,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Ah,  see,  Babet, 
another  house  has  caught !  'T  is  the  village  in 
the  highroad  yonder ;  how  it  burns  !  The  night 
is  gaping  as  though  we  looked  into  a  fiery  fur- 
nace. Oh,  mon  Dieu,  what  a  fearful  sight  it  is ! 
There  !  something  exploded  —  see  the  timbers 
flying  —  some  one  perished  when  they  fell." 

She  leaned  from  the  window  and  gazed  at  the 
wild  night  with  a  throbbing  heart. 

"  Can  you  not  see,  Babet?  "  she  cried.  "  I  do 
—  they  fight  there  in  the  firelight  —  see  their 
black  figures  —  hush  !  there  is  a  heavy  gun." 

"  My  eyes  are  old,"  Babet  replied  ;  "  to  me  't  is 
the  mouth  of  the  infernal  regions  —  no  more." 

Another  pause  while  madame  prayed  softly. 

"  How  goes  it?  "  she  asked  again. 

"I  cannot  tell  —  I  cannot  tell!"  cried  Rosa- 
line, "  but  the  fire  has  consumed  the  houses,  I 


150  THE  COBBLER   OF  NIMES 

think.  It  seems  to  sink  now,  and  I  cannot  see 
so  well." 

Again  they  watched  in  silence ;  but  now  the 
firing  seemed  to  grow  more  distant,  and  finally 
they  heard  it  no  more,  though  the  flames  still 
made  the  night  as  red  as  blood.  An  hour  passed 
—  two  —  and  they  watched,  and  could  see  no 
more,  and  could  only  divine  the  cause  of  the 
silence. 

"  Cavalier  must  have  been  driven  back," 
madame  said,  "  else  the  fighting  would  have 
lasted  longer.  May  the  ban  Dieu  guard  our 
poor  fellows ! " 

Again  there  was  stillness,  and  the  clock  struck 
four,  the  clear  little  bell  startling  them.  Rosa- 
line closed  the  shutter  softly ;  her  face  was  as 
white  as  snow. 

"  'T  is  over,"  she  said ;  "  the  flames  have  died 
away,  darkness  is  there  again,  and  silence  —  and 
death ! " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"AND   ALL   FOR   LOVE" 

THE  day  dawned  calm,  after  the  night  of  sus- 
pense ;  the  October  sky  was  full  of  light  clouds, 
and  there  was  a  chill  in  the  air,  the  first  sugges- 
tion of  winter,  and  the  birds  twittered  in  the  ivy 
that  clung  below  Rosaline's  window.  The  day- 
light found  no  roses  in  her  cheeks,  but  rather  a 
new  consciousness  of  pain  in  her  blue  eyes. 
From  an  almost  childlike  innocence  and  calm, 
her  heart  had  been  awakened ;  life  in  its  ful- 
ness had  come  upon  her,  and  with  it  the  sense 
of  insecurity.  All  that  she  cared  for  was  threat- 
ened with  terrible  dangers ;  her  own  every-day 
life  might  pass  like  a  dream  and  she  might  find 
herself  shut  in  by  grim  prison  walls.  They  were 
not  of  the  "  king's  religion,"  and  imprisonment, 
banishment,  death  awaited  them. 

She  looked  out  over  the  tranquil  scene  with 
an  anxious  heart.  What  had  happened  yonder 
in  that  murky  night?  Who  had  fallen?  She 


152  THE   COBBLER  OF  N?MES 

could  see  soldiers  on  the  distant  highroad,  and 
now  and  then  a  train  of  wagons  moving  slowly 
in  the  direction  of  the  St.  Hippolyte  road,  but 
these  things  told  her  no  more  than  the  flames 
of  the  night  before.  Cavalier  had  been  repulsed, 
no  doubt,  but  how  many  had  fallen  ?  She  could 
not  tell,  and  her  heart  throbbed  and  her  hands 
trembled  as  she  busied  herself  with  the  morning 
tasks.  She  and  her  grandmother  sat  down  as 
usual  to  breakfast,  but  she  could  not  eat;  she 
quietly  fed  Truffe  with  her  meal.  Madame  de 
St.  Cyr  herself  scarcely  touched  anything,  and 
Babet  removed  the  dishes  with  a  gloomy  face. 
There  was  no  conversation,  there  could  not  be 
while  the  terror  of  the  night  was  upon  them,  and 
d'Aguesseau's  vacant  chair  seemed  to  mock 
them. 

Once  during  the  day  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  let 
her  knitting  fall  in  her  lap  and  looked  at  Rosa- 
line with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Alas!"  she  said  quietly,  "I  fear  I  shall 
never  see  him  again  —  and  he  was  a  brave  man. 
But  for  me  he  would  have  gone  long  ago." 

Her  granddaughter  looked  at  her  strangely. 
"  Did  you  urge  him  to  stay  here?  "  she  asked. 


"AND  ALL   FOR  LOVE"  153 

"  I  prayed  him  to  be  near  us,"  the  old  woman 
replied.  "  I  felt  that  I  might  go,  and  there  would 
be  no  one  to  help  you.  Pere  Ambroise  would 
be  all  on  M.  de  Baudri's  side." 

"And  you  told  M.  d'Aguesseau  that?"  ex- 
claimed Rosaline,  her  face  flushing. 

"  Something  like  it,  yes,"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr 
rejoined  sadly ;  "  but  the  call  came  and  he 
obeyed  it.  May  the  ban  Dieu  protect  him  and 
us." 

Rosaline  made  no  reply,  but  went  out  of  the 
room  and  up  the  stairs  to  her  own,  where  she 
knelt  in  the  window  recess,  her  head  on  her 
arms.  This,  then,  was  the  key  to  all  that  she 
had  not  understood.  He  had  stayed  to  protect 
them,  to  serve  them,  and  but  for  that  might 
perhaps  have  been  in  England,  and  her  grand- 
mother had  demanded  this  return  for  her  friend- 
ship. Rosaline's  face  burned ;  she  did  not 
look  up,  even  when  Truffe  came  in  search  of 
her  and  thrust  her  head  into  her  mistress's  lap. 

Presently,  however,  she  heard  a  horse  stop 
at  the  gate,  and  peeping  cautiously  through  her 
screen  of  ivy,  saw  M.  de  Baudri,  resplendent 
in  gold  lace,  coming  up  to  the  house.  An  ill- 


154  THE    COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

enough  omen  at  such  a  time,  she  thought,  and 
remained  at  her  post,  refusing  to  go  down  when 
Babet  was  sent  for  her.  She  heard  his  voice, 
smooth  and  pleasant,  in  the  room  below,  and 
after  a  while  she  saw  him  go  away  again,  sitting 
very  erect  in  his  saddle,  the  picture  of  a  soldier. 
After  his  departure  she  found  Madame  de  St. 
Cyr  sad  and  nervous.  He  had  told  her  of  the 
skirmish  with  Cavalier,  speaking  of  the  affair 
with  contempt.  The  dragoons  had  beaten  off 
the  Camisards,  killed  twenty  and  taken  sixteen 
wounded  prisoners.  He  had  come  to  press  his 
suit  again  and  to  covertly  threaten  Madame  de 
St.  Cyr.  The  old  woman  did  not  tell  all  to 
Rosaline;  she  dared  not.  But  the  girl  read 
much  in  the  anxious  eyes  that  followed  her  as 
she  moved  about,  waiting  on  her  grandmother, 
for  she  had  sent  Babet  to  Nimes,  to  learn  from 
Chariot,  if  possible,  the  names  of  the  prisoners, 
the  list  of  the  dead.  It  would  be  an  infinitely 
difficult  task  to  learn  this  without  suspicion; 
but  if  any  one  could  help  them,  the  little  cob- 
bler could,  and  he  was  known  to  be  of  the 
king's  religion. 

Never  did   a  day  drag  more  wearily,  but  at 


"AND  ALL   FOR  LOVE"  155 

last  the  sun  descended  toward  the  west,  the 
shadows  lengthened,  and  Rosaline's  doves  came 
cooing  to  their  rest.  Babet  had  not  returned 
yet  from  Nimes.  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  had  her 
supper,  served  by  her  granddaughter,  and  then 
Rosaline  went  out  with  Truffe.  She  walked 
slowly  through  the  garden,  where  the  autumn 
had  already  laid  its  fingers,  and  then  she  passed 
out  into  the  grove  of  mulberry  trees,  where  the 
path  led  to  the  old  windmill.  The  sun  had  set, 
and  the  clouds  were  red  and  purple  overhead, 
and  between  them  were  great  rifts  of  pale  blue. 
The  mulberry  leaves  rustled  softly;  but  save 
for  that  it  was  still.  The  air  was  chill,  and  the 
openings  between  the  trees  made  broad  avenues 
of  light  and  shade. 

Rosaline  had  walked  but  a  little  way,  when 
the  dog  sprang  forward  with  a  quick,  short 
bark  of  welcome,  and  she  saw  a  man  coming 
toward  her.  At  the  sight  of  his  face  she  stood 
still,  her  own  turning  from  white  to  red.  A 
moment  ago  she  had  thought  of  him  as  per- 
haps lying  in  some  loathsome  dungeon  in 
Nimes,  or  dead,  and  this  sudden  meeting  took 
away  her  self-control ;  she  was  trembling  when 


156  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

he  came  up.  Looking  at  her,  he  read  more  in 
her  eyes  than  he  had  dared  to  hope  for. 

"  I  have  come  to  assure  myself  of  your  safety, 
mademoiselle,"  he  said  quietly,  "  and  then  to 
go  away  again." 

"  Babet  is  in  Nimes  now,  monsieur,  trying  to 
find  out  the  names  of  the  prisoners,"  Rosaline 
replied.  "  We  did  not  know  what  had  hap- 
pened and  we  feared  the  worst." 

"  It  was  a  short,  sharp  battle,"  he  said.  "  We 
took  some  ammunition,  but  they  brought  up 
reinforcements  from  Nimes  and  we  were  forced 
to  fall  back.  Cavalier  is  a  soldier,  indeed." 

"  M.  de  Baudri  was  at  the  chateau,"  she  re- 
joined. "  He  told  us  of  the  dead  and  the 
prisoners,  and  my  grandmother  could  not  rest 
until  she  knew." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  he  watched  her 
face. 

"  And  you,  mademoiselle  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

Her  eyes  sought  the  ground, 

"  I  also  was  anxious,  monsieur,"  she  said 
with  an  effort. 

"Yet  last  night  you  wished  me  to  go,"  he  re- 
marked, unmercifully. 


"AND  ALL  FOR  LOVE"  I$f 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  grave  face. 

"  I  did  not  know  until  to-day,  monsieur," 
she  said,  "  that  my  grandmother  had  asked 
you  to  stay  with  us  to  protect  us — 'twas 
more  than  she  had  a  right  to  ask." 

"  Not  more  than  she  had  a  right  to  ask,"  he 
replied,  "  but  I  remained  for  another  reason  — 
can  you  not  divine  it,  mademoiselle?  " 

The  blue  eyes  avoided  his,  and  the  color  came 
back  into  her  cheeks. 

"  I  have  no  right  perhaps  to  tell  you  now, 
when  the  future  looks  so  dark,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
have  felt  that  you  were  displeased  at  my  inac- 
tivity. Yet  —  last  night  —  when  I  was  facing 
death  I  longed  to  speak  —  to  tell  you  all  that 
was  in  my  heart  —  even  if  you  were  indifferent. 
Love  cannot  always  be  silent  —  God  forgive  me 
if  I  break  in  upon  your  innocent  peace  with  my 
life  and  its  passions  and  regrets.  The  world  was 
desolate  when  I  saw  you  —  I  had  lost  all  —  and 
then  I  looked  out  of  my  darkness  and  saw  your 
face.  I  cannot  but  speak  —  we  must  part  now 
and  I  must  know  if  you  care  —  ever  so  little. 
Dieu  !  how  black  the  world  was  when  I  saw 
this  tall,  white  lily !  You  told  me  last  night 


158  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

that  you  were  glad  to  have  me  go  —  I  am  a 
fool,  no  woman  ever  said  that  to  the  man  she 
loved." 

He  paused,  and  the  leaves  rustled  overhead. 
Her  face  was  averted  and  he  could  not  see 
her  eyes. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  hoarsely;  "I  did 
not  mean  to  speak  —  but  one  cannot  always 
smother  the  heart's  utterances !  You  are  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  so  innocent  —  forgive  me, 
and  let  me  serve  you  still." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  but  he  could 
not  read  her  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  she  replied  softly. 
"  I  wanted  you  to  go  because  —  " 

"  You  thought  me  a  coward,"  he  exclaimed 
harshly. 

"  Nay,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "  I  wanted  you  to 
go  because  a  woman  wants  the  man  she  —  she 
loves  to  be  a  hero  —  " 

He  caught  her  hands,  looking  eagerly  into 
her  face. 

"  Is  it  possible?"  he  cried. 

She  smiled  through  her  tears. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  be  a  hero,"  she  answered, 


"AND  ALL   FOR  LOVE"  159 

"  and  when  you  went  I  thought  —  my  heart 
would  break !  " 

Her  fair  head  was  on  his  shoulder  now,  and  he 
kissed  her,  the  perils  of  their  lives  forgotten,  all 
the  world  changed  in  an  instant  and  only  Love 
triumphant.  After  a  while  he  broke  the  silence. 

"  Are  you  happy?  "  he  asked  her  softly,  hold- 
ing her  a  little  away  from  him  that  he  might  see 
her  face. 

She  smiled  radiantly,  but  did  not  answer,  and 
he  went  on,  questioning  her  that  he  might  have 
a  fresh  assurance  of  her  affection. 

"  You  want  me  to  go  and  you  do  not,"  he 
said;  "what  am  I  to  think?" 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  you  to  go,"  she  replied,  a 
flush  on  her  face.  "I  could  not  bear  to  have 
you  seem  less  brave  or  daring  than  other  men 
—  or  to  lack  zeal  for  your  religion — and  then 
you  went !  And  —  and  I  cannot  bear  to  have 
you  go  to  face  danger  —  even  death  itself!  " 

"  Oh,  thou  perfect  woman  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
smiling;  "I  must  be  a  true  knight  and  yet  you 
would  not  have  me  in  danger." 

She  smiled,  turning  her  face  aside. 

"Yes  —  yes,    'tis   that,"    she   answered   very 


l6o  THE   COBBLER   OF 

low.  "  I  want  you  to  be  the  bravest  of  the  brave, 
and  yet  —  oh,  man  Dieu,  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  in  any  danger  !  " 

He  held  her  to  his  heart  again  with  many 
caresses. 

"What  can  I  do?"  he  asked.  "I  cannot  be 
both,  —  your  constant  attendant  and  a  soldier  in 
the  field.  Ah,  Rosaline,  love  is  king —  not  even 
the  perils  of  battle  can  defeat  him.  I  can  love 
you  and  fight  too,  but  I  cannot  flee  from  danger 
for  your  sweet  sake." 

"  And  I  could  not  bear  to  see  you  flee,"  she 
said,  "  and  yet  my  heart  was  torn  when  I  knew 
that  you  were  in  the  midst  of  that  fight  in  the 
darkness." 

"  Take  comfort,  my  dearest,"  he  said  softly, 
"  let  us  forget  the  perils  and  think  only  of  each 
other.  Ah,  my  darling,  I  little  thought,  when  I 
was  in  the  cobbler's  upper  room  so  downcast, 
that  the  light  of  my  life  would  shine  in  upon 
me  there.  I  loved  you  from  the  first  moment 
that  I  saw  you." 

"  Did  you?  "  she  cried  with  shining  eyes,  "  oh, 
tell  me  —  tell  me  how  it  was  !  " 

And  he  told  her,  Love's  language  being  elo- 


"AND  ALL  FOR  LOVE"  l6l 

quent  to  such  ears,  as  it  has  been  always,  as  it 
will  be  while  the  round  world  moves. 

Then  they  walked  on,  hand  in  hand,  through 
the  trees,  the  soft  moss  beneath  their  feet,  the 
pale  October  sky  overhead,  and  only  the  mur- 
mur of  the  leaves.  They  came  presently  to  the 
old  mill,  and  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
stream,  and  then  he  asked  her  again  the  ques- 
tion that  was  first  in  his  thoughts,  — 

"  Are  you  happy,  sweetheart,  tell  me?" 

"  Ah,  Francois,"  she  answered,  "  we  are  too 
happy  —  't  is  that  —  I  am  afraid  !  " 

"Of  what,  dear  heart?"  he  asked  gently, 
"surely,  not  that  our  love  can  die?" 

"Not  that,"  she  replied,  "  not  that!  I  have 
been  light  of  heart,  careless  as  a  child.  I  never 
was  afraid  before,  but  now  —  oh,  Francois,  if 
you  were  taken  from  me  it  would  kill  me." 

He  clasped  her  close,  laying  his  cheek  against 
her  soft  one. 

"  But  that  could  not  be,"  he  said  soothingly ; 
"  not  even  death  could  part  us  save  for  a  little 
while,  my  heart,  for  our  souls  are  immortal  — 
and  they  are  one." 

She  clung  to  him,  her  eyes  full  of  tenderness. 


1 62  THE   COBBLER  OF  NfMES 

"  'T  is  so,"  she  murmured,  "  our  souls  are  im- 
mortal, I  never  felt  it  so  strongly  before  !  Love 
touches  the  heart  and  all  the  world  is  different 
—  ah,  mon  Dieu,  't  is  thy  gift  to  us !  See, 
Francois,"  she  added,  "  is  not  the  world  more 
beautiful,  the  sky  more  tender?  Do  not  the 
birds  sing  more  sweetly  to-day?  And  is  it 
because  we  love  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  so,  my  Rosaline,"  he  answered 
gently ;  "  the  Garden  of  Eden  must  have  blos- 
somed so  to  welcome  Eve  —  and  love  makes  the 
world  more  beautiful  each  day." 

"  And  it  shall  make  me  better,"  she  rejoined ; 
"  't  is  said  that  sorrow  refines  the  heart,  but  it  is 
joy  that  fills  it  with  kindness.  I  am  sure  of  it, 
for  I  was  never  half  so  full  of  pity  for  the  un- 
happy as  I  am  now;  my  cup  overflows  and 
others  thirst.  Ah,  Francois,  let  us  be  good  to 
others  always,  for  that  is  love. " 

"  Your  very  presence  is  love,  Rosaline,"  lie 
answered  softly,  "  your  face,  your  eyes,  your 
voice.  When  I  first  saw  you  in  the  little  shop  I 
was  a  desperate  man,  but  from  that  moment  my 
heart  was  changed.  You  entered  like  an  angel, 
and  as  an  angel  I  adored  you." 


"AND  ALL   FOR  LOVE"  163 

"And  I  made  that  difference  in  your  life, 
Francois? "  she  said  tenderly,  —  "  I,  Rosaline  de 
St.  Cyr.  Ah,  Dieu,  am  I  not  blessed  ?  " 

She  stood  away  from  him  on  the  mossy  bank, 
the  stream  lying  brown  and  placid  below  her 
feet.  Behind  her  the  tree  trunks  were  outlined 
against  the  rosy  west,  and  the  sweet  stillness  of 
twilight  was  enfolding  them.  The  afterglow 
shone  in  her  beautiful  young  face,  and  her  blue 
eyes  were  radiant. 

"  I  was  never  happy  before,"  she  said,  smiling, 
"  now  I  know  it !  —  but  this  is  happiness  —  love 
—  life.  Do  you  sqe  that  bright  star  shining  yon- 
der, Frangois?  There  is  a  little  one  beside  it  — 
see  !  like  two  souls,  uplifted  above  the  world  and 
radiant.  I  will  be  afraid  no  more,  my  love,  for 
even  death  has  lost  its  terrors,  for  thus  our  two 
souls  would  shine  together  above  the  sorrow  and 
the  pain.  I  will  fear  no  more  —  for  stronger 
than  death  is  love  !  " 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  TEMPTATION   OF   LE  BOSSU 

THE  shadows  had  deepened ;  night  already 
lay  in  the  little  woodland ;  the  distant  hills  were 
purple  against  the  pale  horizon.  The  rising 
wind  turned  the  wheel  on  the  old  mill ;  the  rusty 
vanes  moved  feebly,  as  though  a  cripple  waved 
long  arms  in  the  twilight.  The  stream  rippled, 
and  here  and  there  a  star  was  reflected  in  its 
bosom,  and  the  leaves  rustled  continuously  now. 
The  scene  was  suddenly  desolate,  perhaps  be- 
cause the  lovers  had  deserted  it,  and  the  dark- 
ness came  rolling  along  like  a  cloud,  rising 
from  every  hollow,  lurking  in  every  grove  of 
figs  or  of  olives,  wrapping  every  object  in  an 
elusive  gloom.  And  away  in  the  distance  the 
night  wind  sighed  drearily,  as  it  gathered 
strength.  No  spot  could  have  been  more  quiet 
or  more  lonely. 

A  man  came  out  of  the  mill  carrying  his 
bundle,  and  stood  awhile  on  the  edge  of  the 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU        165 

stream,  —  a  small  man  with  a  hump  on  his  back 
and  a  face  that  showed  white  even  at  nightfall. 
He  remained  only  a  short  time  motionless,  then 
he  shouldered  his  bag  of  tools  and  followed  the 
bank  of  the  stream  until  he  came  at  last  to  a 
bridge,  and  crossing  this  made  his  way  to  the 
highroad  leading  toward  NTmes.  He  walked 
slowly  and  painfully,  as  though  he  carried  a  far 
greater  burden  than  it  appeared,  and  he  held 
his  head  down.  The  soul  of  the  little  cobbler  of 
St.  Antoine  was  in  torment,  what  matter  if  his 
body  walked  the  earth  with  other  men  ?  Pent 
up  in  the  heart  of  the  hunchback  were  the  pas- 
sion and  longing  and  anguish  of  a  lifetime. 

"  Mon  Dieu  ! "  he  cried  out  in  his  bitterness, 
"  why  didst  thou  give  me  the  heart  of  a  man  and 
the  body  of  a  toad  ?  " 

He  had  had  black  hours  before  when  he  was 
well  nigh  ready  to  curse  God  and  die,  but  never 
a  worse  moment  than  this.  The  devil  was  con- 
tending for  the  soul  of  le  Bossu,  and  the  dark- 
ness fell,  and  it  seemed  as  if  that  road  might 
lead  to  hell.  And  what  was  he,  after  all?  he 
thought ;  a  peasant,  a  shoemaker,  a  hunchback  ! 
But,  oh,  mon  Dieu  !  the  long,  long  years  of  des- 


1 66  THE   COBBLER   OF  A'fMES 

elation,  the  anguish,  the  hunger  for  one  word  of 
love,  of  kindness,  of  sympathy.  What  evil  spirit 
had  led  him  to  lie  down  in  that  old  windmill? 
had  let  him  sleep  there  until  her  voice  awoke 
him,  and  out  of  purgatory  he  had  looked  into 
paradise?  Like  Dives,  he  had  cried  out  for  a 
drop  of  water  to  slake  his  thirst,  and  yet  he  still 
lay  in  the  fires  of  Satan. 

Early  that  day  he  had  set  out  for  St.  Cesaire, 
and  he  had  done  his  work  in  the  village,  and 
before  sunset  he  went  up  the  stream  to  the  old 
mill  and  rested,  thinking  of  mademoiselle  in  the 
chSteau,  thankful  that  she  was  sheltered  and 
safe.  Sleep  had  come  to  the  weary  cobbler,  and 
when  he  awoke  Rosaline  and  her  lover  were 
talking  at  the  door  of  the  mill.  He  had  heard 
all,  lying  there  almost  in  a  stupor  and  he  had 
remained  quiet.  It  was  too  late  to  warn  them 
of  a  listener,  and  was  it  not  best  that  she  should 
be  ignorant  of  it?  He  had  heard  all;  their  love 
for  each  other,  their  talk  of  their  religion,  their 
hopes  and  their  fears.  He  was  no  longer  in 
doubt  of  the  nature  of  the  dangers  that  sur- 
rounded them,  and  he  possessed  a  secret  that  it 
was  a  crime  to  conceal ;  that  the  State  and  the 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU        1 6? 

Church  had  ordered  every  good  Catholic  to  re- 
veal ;  and  if  he  revealed  it,  the  lovers  would  be 
separated  forever,  and  he  would  have  no  cause 
to  think  of  their  happiness  with  such  a  pang  of 
miserable  jealousy.  The  poor  hunchbacked 
cobbler  held  their  lives  in  his  hand,  their  joy, 
and  their  desolation. 

All  these  thoughts  and  many  more  crowded 
in  upon  le  Bossu  as  he  toiled  along  the  road, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  Satan  walked  beside 
him.  When  a  bodily  infirmity  as  great  as  his 
is  laid  upon  a  man,  there  come  hours  of  supreme 
temptation,  when  human  nature  revolts  and  the 
starved  heart  cries  out  in  agony  and  will  not  be 
satisfied.  Must  one  man  suffer  so,  and  yet  re- 
joice to  see  others  happy?  A  soul  is  strong 
indeed  that  rises  out  of  such  misery  clean. 

The  little  cobbler  struggled  on,  and  presently 
the  lights  of  Nimes  shone  in  his  face  and  he 
entered  the  gate  and  passed  along  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine  to  his  shop.  Babet  had  been  there 
three  times  that  day  to  find  him,  and  had  gone 
back  at  last  to  St.  Cyr  without  news,  and  found 
M.  d'Aguesseau  there,  talking  with  old  madame. 
Unconscious  that  he  had  disappointed  such  a 


1 68  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

visitor,  Chariot  unlocked  his  door  and  entered, 
feeling  his  way  until  he  could  light  a  candle. 
There  had  been  another  visitor  at  his  door  too, 
though  he  knew  it  not,  an  old  woman  with  a 
red  handkerchief  around  her  head,  and  with  a 
wide,  red  mouth.  But  the  cobbler  was  ignorant 
of  all  these  things  and  went  about  as  usual.  He 
had  tasted  nothing  since  midday,  but  he  had  no 
appetite  and  he  went  up  the  ladder  to  his  room 
and  lighted  a  taper  before  the  shrine  there. 
After  that  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  dressed 
as  he  was,  and  all  night  he  wrestled  with  a  temp- 
tation that  beset  him,  with  a  new-born  hatred 
of  the  man  whom  he  had  befriended  in  the 
market-place.  If  he  had  left  M.  d'Aguesseau 
in  that  tent  with  the  body  of  the  damned  person, 
how  different  the  end  might  have  been!  Ah, 
the  desolate  soul  and  the  desolate  hearth,  the 
misery  and  the  poverty  !  Dame  de  Dieu  !  some 
men  possessed  the  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof, 
and  others  starved  ! 

Morning  found  Chariot  stirring  the  fire  in  the 
kitchen ;  the  commonplace  world  possessed  him 
again ;  he  was  no  longer  an  individual,  only  one 
of  many,  the  little  cobbler  of  Nimes.  He  made 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU        169 

his  coffee  and  he  ate  his  black  bread,  and  then 
he  went  to  his  bench  and  worked  patiently,  fin- 
ishing a  pair  of  high  military  riding-boots. 
They  were  of  fine  leather,  and  he  fastened  bur- 
nished buckles  on  the  high  insteps.  They  were 
elaborate,  and  he  had  put  some  fine  labor  upon 
them,  and  he  looked  at  them  now  with  a  recog- 
nition of  their  perfections ;  no  one  made  better 
shoes  than  the  hunchback. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  he  rose  and  put 
the  boots  into  his  green  bag,  and  gathering  up 
his  measure  and  some  tools,  set  out  once  more. 
The  streets  were  full  and  the  cobbler  made  his 
way  slowly  through  the  throng.  One  or  two 
spoke  to  him,  others  noticed  him  less  than  the 
mule  that  stood  waiting  for  a  reverend  father 
outside  the  Garden  of  the  Recollets.  Le  Bossu 
took  little  heed  of  it  all ;  his  face  was  drawn  and 
haggard,  and  the  hump  seemed  larger  than  ever. 
He  walked  on  until  he  passed  in  front  of  the  inn 
of  the  Golden  Cup  and  came  to  a  house  a  few 
yards  beyond  it.  Here  he  knocked  and  was 
admitted  by  a  man-servant  who  wore  the  uni- 
form of  a  dragoon.  The  house  had  a  long, 
narrow  hall,  and  at  the  end  of  this  was  a  flight 


I/O  THE  COBBLER   OP  NtMES 

of  stairs,  and  up  these  le  Bossu  was  conducted 
to  the  second  story.  Here  the  soldier  opened 
a  door  to  the  right,  and  the  cobbler  entered  a 
large  room,  lighted  by  three  windows,  where 
M.  de  Baudri  sat  eating  his  breakfast.  Chariot 
made  his  salutation,  and  putting  his  bag  in  the 
corner,  patiently  waited  the  pleasure  of  his 
patron.  De  Baudri  noticed  him  as  little  as  he 
would  have  noticed  a  rat  or  a  mouse,  and  finished 
his  meal  before  he  even  glanced  in  his  direction. 
Finally,  however,  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
called  the  shoemaker. 

"  Viens  done,  Petit  Bossu,"  he  said,  "  are  the 
boots  finished?  " 

Chariot  took  them  out  of  his  bag  without  a 
word,  and  displayed  them. 

"  Sacristi  I  if  I  had  four  legs  I  should  come 
to  you  for  boots,"  M.  de  Baudri  remarked, 
inspecting  them.  "  Diable  !  those  buckles  are 
too  small." 

"The  latest  from  Paris,  monsieur,"  le  Bossu 
replied ;  "  his  Majesty  has  a  pair  of  the  same 
size  and  design." 

M.  de  Baudri's  face  relaxed,  and  he  thrust 
out  one  foot. 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU        1 71 

c>  Try  them,  Bossu,"  he  said ;  "  and  see  that 
they  are  good,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "  for  I 
expect  to  wear  them  at  my  wedding." 

A  strange  expression  crossed  the  drawn  face 
of  the  hunchback,  as  he  knelt  to  put  on  the 
boot. 

"  Monsieur  expects  to  be  married  soon  ?  "  he 
asked  quietly. 

"Dame  de  Dieu,  I  do  not  know!"  de  Baudri 
exclaimed  with  a  laugh;  "my  little  white  bird 
likes  to  use  her  wings,  but  —  I  mean  to  clip 
them." 

Le  Bossu  smoothed  the  leather  on  the  officer's 
ankle,  and  arranged  the  buckle,  his  head  bent 
low  over  his  work. 

"  Monsieur  plans  for  an  early  marriage,  then?" 
he  ventured  again. 

M.  de  Baudri  stared  at  him. 

"  Au  diable  !  "  he  said  harshly j  "  what  is  it  to 
you,  worm?" 

The  cobbler  made  no  reply;  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  such  language  from  his  patrons.  He 
had  put  both  boots  on  M.  de  Baudri's  feet,  and 
he  sat  back  now  on  his  own  heels,  looking  at  his 
work. 


172  THE   COBBLER  OF  NfMES 

"Is  monsieur  satisfied?"  he  asked  meekly. 

The  officer  stood  up,  looking  down  at  his 
feet. 

"  Very  good,"  he  said  at  last,  "  they  will  do ; 
but  make  your  bill  small,  you  little  beggar,  or 
you  will  see  that  I  know  how  to  use  them !  " 
and  he  laughed  coarsely  as  he  sat  down  and 
waited  for  Chariot  to  remove  the  boots  and  put 
on  his  others,  which  the  hunchback  began  to 
do. 

"  Curse  you,  you  dog !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
vicious  kick  at  the  shoemaker;  "you  hurt  me 
in  pulling  that  off!  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur,"  le  Bossu 
replied,  with  white  lips,  having  dexterously 
dodged  the  kick. 

He  knew  to  his  cost  that  there  were  some 
perils  attendant  upon  trying  on  shoes.  He  had 
put  back  one  of  M.  de  Baudri's  high-heeled 
slippers  and  was  taking  off  the  other  boot  — 
with  some  caution  —  when  the  door  was  opened 
by  a  servant,  who  came  to  announce  a  visitor. 

"A  miserable  old  woman,  monsieur,"  the 
man  said  hesitatingly,  "  but  she  will  not  be 
denied." 


THE   TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU          173 

"  Dame,  send  her  to  the  devil  —  or  to  the 
Intendant !  "  retorted  M.  de  Baudri,  with  a  grin 
at  his  own  joke. 

The  servant  still  'stood  at  the  door,  with  a 
perplexed  face.  His  master  cast  a  frowning 
glance  in  his  direction. 

"  What  is  it,  idiot?  "  he  demanded. 

"  She  has  some  information  about  these 
heretics,  monsieur,"  the  fellow  answered,  stam- 
mering; "she  wants  money." 

"Ante  de  St.  Denis!"  exclaimed  monsieur, 
with  a  sneer,  "  does  she  take  me  for  a  pay- 
master?" 

The  servant  summoned  his  courage. 

"  She  told  me  to  say  to  you  two  words, 
monsieur,"  he  said,  "  and  they  were  '  St.  Cyr.' " 

"  Diable  ! "  M.  de  Baudri  cried  fiercely. 
"  Show  her  up  here,  you  blockhead !  " 

The  man  closed  the  door  hastily,  and  they 
heard  his  hurried  steps  retreating  down  the 
hall.  M.  de  Baudri  fell  to  cursing,  and  Chariot 
suddenly  found  that  the  buckle  was  hanging  by 
a  thread  on  the  other  shoe,  —  the  mate  to  the 
one  on  his  patron's  foot.  The  shoemaker  got 
out  his  thread  and  his  needle,  and  began  to 


174  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

sew  the  rosette  in  place,  and  it  was  very  slow 
work  indeed. 

Presently  the  door  opened  again,  and  Chariot 
looked  up  quickly  and  saw  Mere  Tigrane.  — 
Mere  Tigrane,  with  her  blood-red  handkerchief 
about  her  head,  and  her  blood-red  mouth  with 
its  yellow  fangs.  She  curtsied  low  to  the  officer 
and  grinned  as  she  did  when  she  intended  to  be 
most  amiable,  but  all  this  had  no  effect  upon  de 
Baudri ;  he  cursed  her  roundly  and  ordered  her 
to  tell  her  tale  and  begone.  The  old  hag  took 
it  in  good  part,  leering  at  him  out  of  her  evil 
eyes. 

"  I  have  a  little  news  for  monsieur,"  she 
said  pleasantly,  "  a  little  information  about  his 
friends,  and  'tis  worth  a  little  money;  monsieur 
knows  that." 

"  Diable,  you  old  witch,  out  with  it !  "  he 
said,  tossing  her  some  coins. 

La  Louve  grovelled  on  the  floor  after  them 
as  they  rolled  away,  her  talon  fingers  clutching 
each  piece  greedily.  One  fell  near  the  cobbler, 
and  he  thrust  it  toward  her  with  the  end  of  his 
awl,  a  look  of  disgust  on  his  face.  M.  de 
Baudri  laughed  loudly. 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU        175 

"  Dame!  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  there  are  degrees 
even  among  vermin  !  " 

Mere  Tigrane  gave  le  Bossu  an  evil,  trium- 
phant look,  and  then  began  to  count  her 
money. 

"  'T  is  not  enough,"  she  said  bluntly,  turning 
on  the  officer  with  a  sinister  smile ;  "  't  is  worth 
more,  my  beauty." 

Her  insolent  tone  offended  him  and  he  stared 
at  her. 

"  Diantre!  "  he  said,  "  I  will  have  you  thrown 
from  the  roof  if  you  do  not  tell  all  you  know, 
you  thievish  hag !  " 

Mere  Tigrane  hesitated,  looking  at  the  coins 
in  her  hand,  but  she  had  a  motive  more  power- 
ful than  greed  this  time.  She  changed  her  tone, 
however. 

"  I  'm  a  poor  woman,  Excellency,"  she 
whined  ;  "  't  is  worth  more." 

He  threw  her  a  broad  piece,  with  a  curse. 

"  Go  on  !  "  he  shouted,  fiercely ;  "  or  I  '11 
break  your  neck." 

She  put  the  money  into  her  wallet  and  then 
licked  her  lips;  there  was  a  good  taste  in  her 
mouth. 


176  THE   COBBLER  OF  N$MES 

"  Monsieur  knows  the  family  at  St.  Cyr,"  she 
said,  one  evil  eye  seeming  to  fix  itself  on 
Chariot ;  "  the  old  woman  and  her  grand- 
daughter are  there,  and  a  steward." 

M.  de  Baudri  was  interested  now ;  he  frowned 
darkly  upon  her. 

"  Does  monsieur  know  who  the  steward  is?" 
she  demanded,  her  head  on  one  side.  "  No, 
I  thought  not!  'Tis  M.  d'Aguesseau,  —  the 
heretic  from  Dauphine,  —  whose  father  was 
broken  on  the  wheel  at  Montpellier  to  the 
edification  of  all  good  people ;  and  his  sister 
was  in  the  Tour  de  Constance.  Her  body 
was  shown  here  at  a  fair.  Dame !  but  her  flesh 
was  white." 

M.  de  Baudri  threw  her  another  coin. 

"  Your  information  is  good,"  he  said,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  smile. 

She  curtsied  and  thrust  the  money  in  her 
wallet. 

"  That  is  not  all,  monsieur,"  she  said  ami- 
ably ;  "  the  young  mademoiselle  at  the  chateau 
—  she  went  with  this  heretic  to  a  prayer-meet- 
ing out  there  by  the  old  quarry  and  sang  psalms 
there.  Mere  Tigrane  knows  !  And  old  Madame 


THE    TEMPTATION  OF  LE  BOSSU         1 77 

de  St.  Cyr,  she  too  is  a  heretic.  Dame !  the 
chateau  would  make  a  good  burning,  monsieur." 

M.  de  Baudri  turned  a  black  face  on  her. 

"  Look  you,  hag,"  he  said,  "  there  is  more 
money.  You  are  well  paid,  but  if  a  word  of 
this  goes  to  any  one  else,  nom  de  del !  I  will 
hang  you.  Now  —  an  diable  !  " 

Mere  Tigrane  took  the  money  eagerly,  vow- 
ing that  she  would  be  discreet,  and  got  out  of 
the  room  just  in  time  to  escape  a  boot  that  M. 
de  Baudri  picked  up  to  throw  at  her. 

He  was  in  a  storm  of  passion ;  he  summoned 
his  servants  and  ordered  one  to  bring  his  horse 
and  the  other  to  get  his  riding-suit,  and  then 
he  went  to  his  room  to  dress,  cursing  heaven 
and  earth  in  his  haste  to  be  off  to  St.  Cyr. 

The  hunchbacked  cobbler  had  been  forgotten, 
and  when  M  de  Baudri  went  out  he  quietly 
gathered  up  his  bag  and  left  the  house.  His 
face  was  white,  but  he  had  never  walked  so  fast 
as  he  did  then.  He  did  not  go  to  the  shop ;  he 
went  straight  along  the  Rue  St.  Antoine  and 
out  at  the  gate,  and  the  road  to  St.  C6saire 
stretched  before  him,  as  endless  and  as  steep  — 
to  his  vision  —  as  the  road  to  heaven. 

12 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  BRIEF  DELAY 

BEYOND  the  old  windmill,  on  the  estate  of 
St.  Cyr,  the  stream  turned  its  course  westward 
and  tumbling  over  a  rock,  fell  four  or  five  feet 
into  a  broader  rivulet  and  then  flowed  placidly 
on,  twisting  and  turning  at  last  toward  the  valley 
of  the  Vaunage.  The  gray  cliffs  towered  boldly, 
hiding  the  little  falls,  locking  them  in  a  spot  as 
wild  and  as  deserted  as  the  wildernesses  of  the 
CeVennes.  But  below,  where  the  stream  wid- 
ened, the  banks  were  mossy,  and  in  summer 
ferns  and  wild  flowers  clustered,  and  on  either 
bank  was  a  fringe  of  juniper  bushes,  and  be- 
yond, the  tall,  well-nurtured  chestnut  trees. 
Here  were  fish,  —  the  brown  trout  darting 
through  the  placid  waters,  and  the  eels,  and 
there  were  always  birds  in  the  trees  when  the 
chestnuts  blossomed.  But  now  the  touch  of 
autumn  was  upon  it;  the  moss  showed  brown 
tints,  and  the  nuts  fell  from  the  opening  burrs, 


A   BRIEF  DELAY  !?$ 

and  the  squirrels  were  gathering  their  winter 
stores. 

On  the  edge  of  the  stream  stood  Rosaline  St. 
Cyr,  looking  down  into  its  clear  depths  at  the 
pebbles  in  its  bed.  A  little  way  off  was  Babet 
with  a  basket,  and  Chariot,  the  cobbler,  knelt 
on  the  bank  digging  up  a  hardy  fern  with  a  broad 
knife,  that  had  been  given  him  for  the  purpose 
by  the  housekeeper.  Truffe  meanwhile  ran 
about  under  the  trees  barking  at  every  nut  that 
dropped.  The  scene,  in  its  rustic  peace  and 
simplicity,  struck  the  shoemaker  in  pleasant  con- 
trast with  that  other  scene  in  Nimes.  He  was  slow 
at  his  task,  taking  the  root  up  carefully  and  lin- 
gering over  it  so  long  that  Babet  grew  impatient. 

"  How  long  thou  art,  Petit  Bossu  !  "  she  said, 
her  arms  akimbo.  "  del,  I  could  have  dug  up 
forty !  We  were  doing  better  before  you 
came." 

"C'est  fini"  replied  the  hunchback,  holding 
up  the  fern.  "  Here  it  is ;  how  many  will  you 
have  ?  " 

Rosaline  turned  toward  him.  She  had  a  large 
straw  hat  tied  under  her  chin  with  blue  ribbons, 
and  her  cheeks  were  like  roses. 


l8o  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  We  want  four  like  that,  Chariot,"  she  said 
cheerfully;  " grand1  mh'e  always  has  a  box  of 
ferns  for  winter;  they  make  a  green  spot  in  the 
room,  and  that  is  so  pretty." 

"But,  mademoiselle,  'tis  near  supper  time," 
protested  Babet,  "  and  we  have  been  here  all  the 
morning." 

Rosaline  laughed  —  a  happy,  careless  laugh. 

"  You  may  go  home,"  she  said  ;  "  Chariot  will 
bring  me  back  when  the  basket  is  full,  and  we 
must  not  lose  our  dish  of  mushrooms  for  supper. 
Run  along,  Babet,  and  set  the  kettle  boiling." 

Babet  was  nothing  loath,  though  she  grumbled 
loudly  at  the  suggestion,  but  Chariot  stopped 
digging  a  fern  and  looked  up  with  a  troubled 
face.  The  woman  set  down  the  basket  for  him 
to  fill,  and  he  half  rose  and  made  a  movement 
as  if  to  stop  her,  and  then  bent  over  his  task 
again.  Apparently,  he  had  decided  to  let  her 
go,  and  in  a  few  moments  her  tall  figure  had  dis- 
appeared behind  the  cliffs  and  he  was  alone  with 
the  young  girl  and  her  dog.  Rosaline  was 
strolling  along  the  mossy  bank  singing  softly  to 
herself,  the  picture  of  joyful  content.  She  was 
walking  in  a  dream  of  love  and  youth,  and  she 


A  BRIEF  DELAY  igl 

had  forgotten  the  hunchback.  He  continued  to 
kneel  over  the  ferns,  but  he  had  paused  in  his 
digging,  and  his  mournful  brown  eyes  followed 
her  with  a  mute  devotion  in  their  gaze.  He  did 
not  know  how  long  he  could  keep  her  there,  but 
every  half-hour  counted,  and  surely  there  was 
hope  that  it  would  be  over  before  she  went  back 
to  the  chateau.  He  knew  what  was  passing 
there,  but  she  did  not,  and  her  song  almost  made 
him  shudder.  Still,  he  hoped,  he  hoped  much, 
that  it  was  only  d'Aguesseau  who  was  wanted, 
and  he  was  out  of  reach.  The  hunchback  did 
not  believe  that  this  beautiful  young  creature 
was  in  any  personal  danger.  He  thought  of  the 
wedding  shoes,  and  bent  over  the  fern  with  a 
frown.  What  would  that  handsome  savage,  M. 
de  Baudri,  do?  Ah,  that  was  the  question. 
Chariot  remembered  last  night  and  its  tempta- 
tions; verily,  love  and  hate  were  nearly  akin, 
and  he  had  seen  the  fiend  in  monsieur's  open 
blue  eyes. 

Rosaline  was  in  a  happy  mood.  She  stooped 
and  gathering  a  handful  of  chestnuts,  threw 
them  —  one  by  one  —  for  Truffe  to  chase,  and 
laughed  gayly  at  the  poodle's  antics,  clapping 


1 82  THE   COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

her  hands  to  make  her  bring  the  nuts  back  to  be 
thrown  again.  The  hunchback  watched  her  in 
silence,  bending  over  his  task  again ;  the  basket 
was  nearly  full  of  plumes  of  fern  now,  and  he 
was  racking  his  brain  for  an  excuse  to  keep 
mademoiselle  longer  away  from  the  house.  The 
drawn  white  face  was  full  of  anxiety,  and  now 
and  then  the  brown  hands  trembled  as  they 
handled  the  plants. 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  an  early  winter, 
Chariot?"  Rosaline  said  at  last,  still  tossing 
the  chestnuts  for  Truffe. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied, 
looking  up  at  the  sky.  "But  last  night  the 
wind  came  howling  straight  from  the  Cevennes, 
and  some  say  that  means  a  short  autumn.  The 
bon  Dieu  knows  that  there  will  be  suffering ;  so 
many  of  these  Cevenols  have  been  taken  or 
slain,  and  there  were  so  few  to  gather  the  crops 
or  card  the  wool.  Mother  of  Heaven,  the  times 
are  evil !  " 

There  was  silence ;  Rosaline's  face  had  lost 
its  joyous  look,  and  she  left  off  playing  with 
the  dog  and  walked  back  to  the  spot  where 
the  shoemaker  was  kneeling  by  his  basket. 


A   BRIEF  DELA  Y  \  83 

"  Babet  says  the  winter  will  be  fearfully  cold," 
she  said  absently,  "  and  she  is  wise  about  these 
matters.  I  know  not  how  many  signs  she  has, 
but  certainly  more  than  I  could  ever  remember." 

"  I  do  not  know  about  such  things,"  he  an- 
swered quietly,  "  but  the  autumn  came  early 
this  year." 

Rosaline  looked  dreamily  away  toward  the 
north. 

"  The  winter  with  its  terrible  storms,  and  this 
cruel  war,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  —  "  I  fear  the 
suffering  will  be  very  great,  Chariot.  How  does 
it  seem  in  Nimes?  What  does  M.  Montrevel 
say?" 

"  That  it  cannot  last,  mademoiselle,"  he  re- 
plied. "  His  Majesty  has  sent  great  reinforce- 
ments, and  the  marechal  is  determined  to  crush 
the  insurrection.  Nothing  is  talked  of  in  Nimes 
save  the  grandeur  of  the  king  and  the  weakness 
of  the  Cevenols." 

Rosaline  sighed ;  her  mood  changed  entirely 
now,  and  her  face  was  grave  and  even  appre- 
hensive. There  was  no  sound  but  the  gentle 
dash  of  water  from  the  falls.  Presently  her 
eyes  lighted  on  the  basket  of  ferns. 


1 84  THE   COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

"  We  have  enough,  Chariot,"  she  said,  in  a 
dull  voice ;  "  I  am  going  back  now.  Come  also, 
and  Babet  will  give  you  supper;  you  must  be 
tired." 

Poor  Chariot  was  at  his  wits'  end. 

"  See,  mademoiselle,  there  is  a  beautiful  fern," 
he  said,  pointing  his  finger  at  three  waving 
plumes  of  green ;  "  will  you  not  have  that 
also?" 

She  looked  at  it  without  interest.  "  No, 
she  replied  indifferently,  "let  it  remain;  we 
have  more  than  enough  already,  and  I  am 
tired." 

She  was  half-way  up  the  bank,  and  Chariot 
rose  in  despair. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said, "  come  back,  I  pray 
you  ;  "t  is  not  yet  time  to  return  to  the  chateau." 

She  looked  around  in  surprise,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  awakened  her  suspicions. 

"What  is  it? "she  demanded  quickly;  "what 
do  you  mean?" 

"  You  were  not  to  return  until  six  o'clock,"  he 
replied,  at  a  loss  for  an  excuse ;  "  Madame  de  St. 
Cyr  so  instructed  me." 

"  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  instructed  you  —  about 


A  BRIEF  DELAY  185 

me? "exclaimed  Rosaline  in  surprise;  and  there 
was  a  touch  of  hauteur  in  her  manner  that 
Chariot  had  never  encountered  before. 

"  She  told  me  so,  when  she  sent  me  after  you, 
mademoiselle,"  he  answered  humbly. 

Rosaline  was  roused  now ;  she  stood  looking 
at  him  with  a  searching  glance. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  St.  Cyr  to-day?"  she 
demanded  imperiously. 

The  hunchback  was  not  adroit,  and  he  felt 
the  peril  of  the  moment  too  deeply  to  find 
ready  replies. 

"  I  brought  some  shoes  for  madame  to  try," 
he  said  lamely. 

"  That  is  not  true,  Chariot !  "  she  retorted 
indignantly;  "madame  has  ordered  no  shoes, 
and  you  know  it.  You  came  for  something,"  she 
went  on,  with  increasing  agitation ;  "  be  honest, 
—  was  it —  did  it  concern  M.  d'Aguesseau  ?  " 

The  shoemaker  looked  at  her  with  dull  eyes, 
his  pinched  face  unusually  brown  and  haggard. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied  with  an  effort, 
"  it  concerned  M.  d'  Aguesseau.  M.  de  Baudri 
received  information  that  he  was  a  heretic,  and 
he  has  come  to  St.  Cyr  to  take  him." 


1 86  THE  COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

Mademoiselle  turned  on  him  the  face  of  an 
avenging  angel. 

"  And  you  —  "  she  said,  with  passionate  scorn, 
"  did  you  betray  him?  " 

The  hunchback's  lips  twitched,  like  those  of  a 
person  in  sudden  bodily  pain,  and  he  did  not 
reply. 

"  You  miserable  creature  !  "  Rosaline  con- 
tinued, her  blue  eyes  sparkling  with  anger. 
"  Did  you  offer  him  shelter  at  first,  and  get 
him  here  that  you  might  surely  betray  him? 
You  are  baffled,  thank  God ;  you  are  out- 
witted !  " 

Chariot's  hands  clenched  and  he  looked  at 
her  as  if  she  had  struck  him. 

"  Sang  de  Dieu,  I  am  innocent !  "  he  said 
solemnly ;  "  I  never  betrayed  him.  I  came  here 
to  warn  him,  and  found  that  he  had  gone.  I 
heard  it  all  in  M.  de  Baudri's  rooms,  and  I  hur- 
ried away,  and  by  hiring  a  cart  that  I  met  in  the 
road,  I  was  at  St.  Cyr  just  five  minutes  before 
the  dragoons  came,  and  madame  sent  me  here 
to  keep  you  out  of  harm's  way." 

"  The  dragoons  at  St.  Cyr !  "  cried  Rosaline, 
forgetting  all  else  in  that  announcement,  "  and 


A  BRIEF  DELAY  l8/ 

my  grandmother  there  alone  !  Dieu,  I  will 
never  forgive  myself!  " 

She  ran  up  the  bank  without  heeding  the 
cobbler's  appeals. 

"  Stay,  mademoiselle  !  "  he  cried  after  her ; 
"  stay  but  a  moment  and  listen  !  Ah,  Mtre  de 
Dieu,  she  rushes  to  her  fate  !  " 

He  called  to  deaf  ears ;  Rosaline  fled  through 
the  woods  like  a  young  fawn  with  the  dog  at 
her  heels.  She  took  no  thought  of  herself  but 
only  remembered  her  grandmother  and  the 
terrible  prospect  of  a  dragonnade  at  St.  Cyr. 
The  custom  of  quartering  dragoons  on  families 
suspected  of  heresy  was  too  fearfully  frequent 
for  it  to  be  improbable,  and  such  visitations  were 
attended  by  horrible  indignities ;  neither  age 
nor  innocence  was  spared,  and  the  end  generally 
saw  the  chateau  in  smoking  ruins  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  devoted  family  dead  or  banished. 

All  these  things  flashed  through  Rosaline's 
mind  as  she  sped  —  on  the  wings  of  love  — 
toward  her  home,  and  no  one  could  have  over- 
taken her.  The  poor  hunchback  followed  as 
best  he  could,  cursing  the  fate  that  had  forced 
him  to  tell  her. 


1 88  THE   COBBLER   OF  NIMES 

At  the  gate  of  the  chateau,  Rosaline  met 
Babet,  who  tried  to  stop  her,  but  in  vain ;  the 
girl  ran  across  the  garden  and  passed  in  through 
the  side  door,  which  the  housekeeper  had  left 
open.  All  the  while  she  wondered  that  the 
place  seemed  so  deserted  and  that  she  saw  no 
soldiers.  She  passed  through  the  kitchen  and 
dining  room,  and  running  upstairs  to  her  grand- 
mother's sitting-room,  flung  open  the  door  and 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  M.  de  Baudri. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

M.   DE  BAUDRI'S  TERMS 

ROSALINE  did  not  look  at  M.  de  Baudri,  but 
beyond  him  into  the  room,  and  she  saw  her 
grandmother's  armchair  vacant,  and  the  door 
that  led  into  the  bedroom  beyond  stood  open. 
The  girl's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating,  yet  she 
could  not  believe  the  evidence  of  her  senses. 

"Where  is  she?"  she  demanded  of  M.  de 
Baudri  imperiously.  "  Where  is  Madame  de  St. 
Cyr?" 

He  had  greeted  her  with  a  profound  bow  and 
he  stood  now  before  her,  smiling  and  composed. 

"  Madame  is  on  her  way  to  Nimes,  made- 
moiselle," he  said  pleasantly. 

"To  Nlmes?"  repeated  Rosaline,  with  pale 
lips.  "  Mon  Dieu  !  what  have  you  done?  " 

Her  agitation  did  not  ruffle  his  composure; 
he  still  looked  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"  I  am  afflicted  to  tell  you  such  ill  news, 
mademoiselle,"  he  said  suavely,  "  but  unhap- 


I9O  THE   COBBLER  OF  ATTMES 

pily  a  complaint  has  been  lodged  against 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr.  She  is  accused  of  being 
a  heretic,  and  of  sheltering  a  heretic.  A  charge 
so  serious  must  be  investigated.  Unfortu- 
nately," he  concluded  with  a  shrug,  "  I  have 
to  do  my  duty." 

"  Your  duty !  "  repeated  Rosaline,  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  "  Your  duty,  then,  monsieur,  is  to 
drag  a  helpless  old  woman  from  the  shelter  of 
her  home?  " 

He  bit  his  lip  and  a  red  spot  showed  in  either 
cheek,  but  he  controlled  his  own  rising  temper. 

"  Assuredly,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  "  if 
she  is  guilty  of  the  detestable  crime  of  heresy." 

"  And  you  will  be  guilty  of  the  crime  of  mur- 
der, monsieur,"  she  retorted  with  a  fierce  indig- 
nation ;  for  the  moment,  she  was  perfectly 
fearless.  "  Where  is  she  ?  Where  have  you 
taken  her?"  she  cried. 

He  looked  at  the  clock.  "She  must  be  in 
Nimes  now,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied  courte- 
ously ;  "  she  will  be  strictly  confined  there  under 
guard  until  she  has  been  interrogated  by  the 
authorities." 

Rosaline  uttered  a  low  cry  of  despair. 


M.   DE  BAUDRI'S   TERMS  19 1 

"  Man  Dieu ! "  she  said,  "  it  will  kill  her ; 
you  know  it  will  kill  her !  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  am  not  re- 
sponsible," he  said ;  "  I  am  a  soldier,  bound  to 
execute  the  orders  of  my  superiors.  For  her 
sake,  for  yours,  mademoiselle,  I  have  endeavored 
to  alleviate  the  circumstances  of  her  arrest, 
and  't  is  possible  that  —  that  there  might  be 
a  compromise." 

He  paused,  looking  at  her  with  a  strange 
expression. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded 
eagerly. 

M.  de  Baudri  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"  It  rests  with  you,  mademoiselle,"  he  said 
with  gallantry,  "  to  determine  madame's  fate. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  she  is  a  heretic,  and  you 
know  the  doom  of  heretics,  but  you  may  save 
her  yet." 

Rosaline  drew  her  breath  sharply;  an  intui- 
tion warned  her  of  what  was  coming.  She  was 
white  to  the  lips,  but  her  blue  eyes  shone. 

"Your  meaning,  monsieur?"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  I  stand  high  in  the  favor  of  M.  Montrevel," 


IQ2  THE    COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

he  said  placidly ;  "  I  am  a  good  Catholic.  It  is 
possible  for  me  to  obtain  many  concessions,  if 
I  wish  to  do  so.  Mademoiselle  understands 
me ;  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  help  her,  and  my 
help  can  be  obtained  if  Rosaline  de  St.  Cyr 
desires  it." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  in  silence,  and  he 
became  at  last  a  little  uneasy  under  that 
searching  glance. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  you,  mademoiselle," 
he  said;  "if  you  consent  now  —  this  moment  — 
to  marry  me,  I  will  save  madame." 

He  spoke  with  the  air  of  one  who  contem- 
plated a  virtuous  deed. 

"You  wish  me  to  marry  you  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
her  voice  quivering  with  passion.  "  M.  de 
Baudri,  I  too  am  a  heretic." 

She  turned  on  him  the  same  face  that  she 
had  turned  on  the  cobbler  in  the  wood. 

"Why  do  you  not  give  me  up  to  the  authori- 
ties, monsieur?"  she  went  on  defiantly;  "you 
are  a  soldier,  do  your  duty !  " 

"  Mademoiselle  does  not  understand  that  I 
love  her,"  he  retorted,  unmoved.  "  Come,  come, 
Rosaline,  you  are  young,  you  are  misguided, 


Af.  DE  BAUDRPS   TERMS  1 93 

but  you  will  be  converted.  Say  the  word; 
promise  to  be  my  wife,  and  your  grandmother 
shall  be  saved,  I  pledge  you  my  word." 

"  Beware,  monsieur ! "  Rosaline  exclaimed 
with  scorn.  "  I  have  thought  you  a  brave  man, 
but  this  is  the  act  of  a  coward." 

His  face  reddened,  and  he  suppressed  the 
violence  of  his  own  mood  with  difficulty. 

"  You  forget,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  you  are 
completely  in  my  power.  You  are  a  heretic  by 
your  own  declaration,  your  grandmother  is  a 
prisoner,  and  the  precious  steward,  d'Agues- 
seau,  is  also  in  my  power." 

His  keen  eyes  saw  the  swift  change  in  her 
face  at  d'Aguesseau's  name. 

"  M.  d'Aguesseau?"  she  exclaimed,  "is  he 
taken  ?  " 

There  was  an  expression  of  satisfaction  in  the 
keen  blue  eyes ;  he  had  touched  her  at  last. 

"This  morning,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied 
coolly.  "  He  is  not  only  a  heretic,  but  also 
a  rebel." 

She  was  controlling  herself  by  a  great  effort. 

"What  will  you  do  with  him,  monsieur?" 
she  asked  faintly. 

13 


194  THE    COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

"  Hang  him,  or  send  him  to  the  galleys,"  he 
retorted  calmly. 

She  reeled,  catching  at  the  back  of  a  chair  to 
save  herself  from  falling.  M.  de  Baudri  sprang 
toward  her  to  proffer  his  assistance,  but  she 
motioned  him  away  with  a  gesture  of  horror. 

"Do  not  touch  me!"  she  cried;  "do  not 
touch  me !  " 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  the  back  of  the 
chair,  overcome  with  contending  emotions.  The 
two  she  loved  best  in  the  world  had  been  taken 
from  her. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /  "  she  cried  in  a  choking  voice ; 
"what  shall  I  do?" 

The  fiercest  passions  leaped  up  into  M.  de 
Baudri's  eyes,  —  anger,  jealousy,  the  desire  for 
revenge ;  he  had  suspected  that  there  was  some 
secret  between  Francois  and  Rosaline,  and  now 
he  doubted  it  no  longer. 

"Mademoiselle  is  more  afflicted  at  the  cap- 
ture of  a  menial  than  at  the  arrest  of  her 
own  grandmother,"  he  remarked  with  a  sneer. 
"  Doubtless  she  would  like  to  arrange  for  his 
liberation  also." 

Rosaline    made    no    reply;    she    was    sum- 


M.   DE  BAUDRFS    TERMS  195 

moning  all  her  powers  to  meet  this  terrible 
emergency. 

"Even  that  is  not  beyond  my  power,"  M.  de 
Baudri  added  coolly,  "  if  mademoiselle  desires 
to  purchase  this  —  servant's  —  liberty." 

Rosaline  looked  up  with  a  haggard  face,  but 
her  eyes  sparkled  with  anger. 

"  Francois  d'Aguesseau  js  no  servant,"  she 
cried ;  "  he  is  as  well  born  and  far  more  noble 
than  his  persecutor!" 

The  man  laughed  fiercely.  "  He  is  doubtless 
mademoiselle's  lover,"  he  remarked  contemptu- 
ously ;  "  she  is  more  lightly  won  than  I  sup- 
posed." 

"  It  is  always  in  the  power  of  the  strong  to 
insult  the  weak,"  Rosaline  retorted  coldly. 

"You  cannot  deny  that  this  heretic  is  your 
lover !  "  he  exclaimed  passionately. 

Rosaline  raised  her  head  proudly;  her  inno- 
cent gentleness  had  deserted  her;  she  was 
like  a  young  lioness  roused  in  defence  of  her 
own. 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,"  she  said  fearlessly ;  "  M. 
d'Aguesseau  is  my  equal  —  and  —  and,  yes, 
monsieur,  my  affianced  husband.  I  do  not  deny 


196  THE  COBBLER  OF  NfMES 

it,  nor  do  I  deny  my  love  for  him,  though  he  is 
a  prisoner  and  at  your  mercy ;  the  bon  Dieu  de- 
fend him  and  me  !  " 

She  had  never  looked  more  beautiful  than  at 
that  moment  of  passionate  indignation  and  de- 
fiance in  the  cause  of  those  she  loved.  M.  de 
Baudri,  looking  at  her,  swore  in  his  heart  that  he 
would  have  her  despite  heaven  and  hell. 

"  You  are  frank,  mademoiselle,"  he  remarked 
coolly.  "  'T  is  unusual  for  a  young  girl  to  be  so 
eager  to  declare  her  affection.  I  am  afflicted 
indeed ;  for  't  is  my  portion  to  decide  M. 
d'Aguesseau's  fate,  and  it  would  grieve  me  to 
bereave  mademoiselle  of  her  lover  !  " 

Rosaline's  distress  was  shaking  her  resolution  ; 
already  her  lips  were  quivering,  and  there  were 
tears  in  the  blue  eyes. 

"Is  his  fate  in  your  hands,  monsieur?"  she 
asked,  with  passionate  anxiety  and  a  desperate 
hope. 

M.  de  Baudri  bowed,  with  his  hand  on  his 
heart. 

"  Absolutely,"  he  replied  pleasantly ;  "  he  has 
not  yet  been  handed  over  to  the  authorities. 
By  lifting  my  finger  I  can  set  him  free  and  also 


M.  DE  BAUDRfS   TERMS  197 

your  grandmother,  and  as  easily  I  can  consign 
both  to  the  miserable  fate  awaiting  the  heretics." 

Rosaline  took  a  step  forward,  clasping  her 
hands  and  gazing  intently  into  his  face. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  surely  you  will  be  merciful," 
she  exclaimed,  "  surely  you  will  spare  my  grand- 
mother—  a  feeble  woman  —  and  M.  d'Agues- 
seau  —  has  he  not  suffered  enough?  Dieu  !  he 
has  lost  all,  —  his  parents,  his  sister,  his  property. 
I  cannot  believe  that  you  will  condemn  these 
two !  You  are  a  man,  and  not  a  fiend." 

He  watched  her  with  an  inscrutable  expres- 
sion on  his  face. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  to  regain  their  lib- 
erty?" he  asked  slowly.  "What  petition  do 
you  make  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you  in  God's  name,"  she  said  with 
passionate  earnestness,  "  and  on  my  knees,  mon- 
sieur, though  I  never  kneeled  to  living  man 
before." 

She  was  kneeling,  her  white  face  lifted,  her 
hands  clasped ;  and  with  her  golden  hair  she 
looked  more  like  a  supplicating  angel  than  an 
unhappy  and  defenceless  girl.  For  him  it  was 
a  moment  of  triumph ;  and  his  heart  was  un- 


198  THE   COBBLER   OF  NIMES 

touched  by  any  feeling  of  compulsion ;   it  only 
throbbed  with  fierce  determination. 

"  Rise,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  offering  his 
hand  with  gallantry.  "  Serious  as  the  situation 
is,  dangerous  as  it  is  for  me  to  release  heretics, 
yet  I  must  be  less  than  human  to  resist  such  elo- 
quence and  beauty.  Your  petition  is  granted 
—  on  one  condition." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly,  and  her 
heart  sank  as  she  read  the  expression  in  his 
eyes. 

"And  that  condition?"  she  demanded  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  A  simple  one,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  with 
an  easy  air  of  confidence  :  "  I  adore  you,  Rosa- 
line; and  when  you  are  my  wife,  these  two  are 
free." 

"You  say  this  to  me  after  I  have  declared 
my  love  for  another  man ! "  she  exclaimed 
aghast,  "  you  say  this  to  me,  —  a  heretic  !  Your 
conscience  is  not  very  scrupulous." 

He  smiled.  "  You  are  but  a  child,  Rosaline," 
he  said ;  "  you  will  embrace  my  religion  and 
marry  me,  or  — "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, — 
"  the  Tour  de  Constance  for  madame  and  the 


M.   DE  BAUDRI'S   TERMS  199 

gallows  for  your  ex-lover.  I  give  you  a  free 
choice  ! " 

Rosaline  clasped  her  hands  against  her  heav- 
ing bosom,  looking  up,  while  the  tears  fell  on 
her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Mon  Dieu ! "  she  cried ;  "  forgive  me  for 
kneeling  to  mortal  man.  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  there  was  no  mercy  save  in  Thee. 
Alas,  alas,  my  dear  ones !  " 

There  was  a  pause;  she  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  her  devotions,  and  M.  de  Baudri 
watched  her  in  silence  but  with  relentless  eyes. 
Her  beauty  and  her  sorrow  only  intensified  his 
fierce  passion. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  willing  to  kill  both  rather 
than  sacrifice  your  whim,"  he  remarked,  striking 
a  skilful  blow  at  her  tottering  resolution. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  your  fixed  pur- 
pose?" she  cried.  "  Can  it  be  that  you  would 
have  me  save  them  thus?  Have  you  no  pride, 
that  you  are  willing  to  take  a  bride  on  such 
terms  are  these?  Have  you  no  mercy?  " 

"  I  am  showing  much,"  he  replied  suavely. 
"  How  many  men  would  spare  a  successful  rival's 
neck?" 


2OO  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

"  It  will  avail  nothing,"  she  said  passionately 
"  I  will  appeal  to  M.  de  Baville  himself!  " 

He  laughed  heartlessly.  "  Do  so,  made- 
moiselle," he  said,  with  a  shrug,  "  and  you  will 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  lover  broken 
on  the  wheel  like  his  father." 

She  gave  a  low  cry  of  horror,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  hands.  He  walked  over  to  the  window 
and  looked  out.  The  sun  was  setting  behind 
the  valley  of  the  Vaunage,  and  the  wind  was 
already  blowing  the  yellow  leaves  from  the 
trees  and  strewing  the  garden  path  with  a 
shower  of  gold.  He  knew  that  she  was  in  the 
throes  of  a  mortal  agony,  and  he  did  not  dream 
of  relaxing  the  pressure  until  he  broke  her  will. 
He  knew  something  of  her  character,  and  he 
believed  her  capable  of  any  sacrifice  for  those  she 
loved.  He  stood  a  while  watching  his  orderly 
leading  his  horse  to  and  fro  before  the  gate.  He 
had  purposely  deceived  her  on  one  point,  and 
he  believed  that  he  would  succeed  without  vio- 
lence, but  he  intended  to  have  her  at  any  cost. 
With  her  consent  if  he  could,  without  it,  if  neces- 
sary, he  was  not  troubled  with  many  scruples, 
and  her  helpless  anguish  did  not  touch  him. 


M.  DE  BAUDRPS   TERMS  2OI 

He  turned  at  last  to  find  her  sitting  in  her 
grandmother's  chair,  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands,  and  her  golden  hair,  escaping  its  bonds, 
had  fallen  about  her  like  a  mantle. 

"I  am  going  back  to  Nimes,  mademoiselle," 
he  said  courteously,  "  and  I  regret  that  I  have 
to  leave  the  house  in  the  hands  of  guards,  but 
they  are  instructed  to  treat  you  with  courtesy. 
Permit  me  to  recommend  that  you  continue  your 
former  prudent  reserve  in  the  matter  of  religion. 
At  ten  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  return  for  my 
answer.  You  know  the  solitary  condition,  and 
you  hold  two  lives  in  your  lovely  hands." 

She  looked  up  with  ineffable  scorn  in  her  blue 
eyes. 

"  Dieu  !  is  this  a  man  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

A  deep  red  flush  mounted  to  his  forehead, 
but  he  bowed  so  profoundly  that  the  curls  of 
his  periwig  fell  before  his  face. 

"  It  is  your  devoted  lover,  mademoiselle,"  he 
replied,  and  walked  backward  to  the  door,  hold- 
ing his  plumed  hat  against  his  heart  and  step- 
ping with  the  ease  and  precision  of  a  dancing 
master. 

On  the  threshold  he  made  her  another  pro- 


2O2  THE   COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

found  obeisance  and,  smiling,  closed  the  door 
behind  him.  He  paused  only  a  moment  in  the 
hall  below  to  give  a  few  sharp  instructions  to 
the  sergeant  left  in  command. 

"  If  any  man  attempts  to  enter  this  house 
to-night,"  he  said  in  a  hard  tone,  "  shoot  .him. 
If  you  let  him  evade  you,  I  will  hang  you." 

The  soldier  saluted,  and  M.  de  Baudri  walked 
calmly  down  the  garden  path,  and  leaping  into 
the  saddle,  set  off  at  a  gallop  for  Ntmes. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

MEANWHILE  a  very  different  scene  had  been 
enacted  in  the  kitchen,  where  Babet  had  con- 
fronted the  cobbler  and  poured  upon  his  devoted 
head  a  volley  of  questions.  She  had  gone  out 
with  Rosaline  early,  before  there  was  even  a  hint 
of  approaching  catastrophe,  and  she  could  not 
understand  the  swift  march  of  events,  and  her 
suspicious  soul  was  possessed  with  a  rooted  dis- 
trust of  the  poor  hunchback,  who  had  not  yet 
rallied  from  Rosaline's  accusations,  striking 
home  as  they  did  after  the  guilty  hours  of  his 
temptation.  The  two  had  shut  themselves  in 
the  kitchen  with  the  dog,  and  le  Bossu  sat  by 
the  fire,  an  expression  of  dull  despair  upon  his 
face,  while  Babet  stood  over  him,  her  arms 
akimbo  and  her  keen  black  eyes  riveted  upon 
him.  Like  Rosaline,  she  questioned  his  motive 
for  coming  to  the  house  at  all. 

"  What  brought  you  here  this  morning,  Petit 


204  THE   COBBLER   OP  NlMES 

Bossu?"  she  demanded  harshly;  "we  needed 
no  new  shoes." 

The  cobbler's  face  darkened.  "  Nom  de  St. 
Denis ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  have  you  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  suspect  your  friends  at  such 
a  time  ?  " 

"  Yet  you  came  —  and  why  ?  "  persisted  Babet. 

The  hunchback  threw  out  his  hands  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  explain  to 
you,"  he  retorted  contemptuously. 

"  Ah !  "  ejaculated  Babet,  in  a  tone  of  dark 
suspicion,  "  what  do  you  expect  me  to  think 
of  such  obstinate  silence?  You  must  be  a 
wicked  man  —  I  have  always  heard  that  hunch- 
backs were  malicious ;  how  could  you  give 
mademoiselle  up?  Why  did  you  not  let  her 
escape  through  the  woods,  beast?" 

The  cobbler  was  tried  beyond  endurance. 

"  Mother  of  Heaven  !  "  he  cried  bitterly,  "  do 
you  think  that  I  would  injure  a  hair  of  mademoi- 
selle's head?  She  could  not  escape;  M.  de 
Baudri  had  two  circles  of  sentries  about  the 
place,  and  I  knew  it.  There  were  men  below 
the  cataract —  in  the  woods  —  to  attempt  to  pass 


ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FRIENDS          2O$ 

them  would  have  been  to  risk  her  life.  You 
were  in  the  snare ;  I  tried  to  keep  her  away 
from  the  house,  but  I  could  not,  and  they  would 
have  found  her  anywhere  in  the  end." 

Babet  threw  back  her  head  with  a  snort ;  she 
had  the  air  of  an  old  war-horse  scenting  the 
battle  from  afar. 

"You  knew  a  great  deal  about  it,"  she  re- 
marked maliciously;  "  could  n't  you  warn  us?" 

He  sighed ;  a  weary  resignation  was  settling 
down  on  his  heart.  It  seemed  that  no  one 
thought  well  of  him,  or  expected  good  from 
him. 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  it  until  this  morning,"  he 
said  coldly,  "  and  then  too  late  to  help  you.  I 
am  lame,  and  M.  de  Baudri  rides  a  fine  horse. 
Nevertheless,  I  got  here  five  minutes  before  him 
—  but  that  was  too  late." 

His  face  and  his  voice  began  to  convince  even 
Babet,  and  a  faint  pang  of  remorse  smote  her 
heart,  which,  after  all,  was  angered  only  on 
Rosaline's  account.  She  left  off  questioning 
him  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen,  trying 
to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  the  process  was 
much  impeded  by  the  even  tramp  of  the  sentry, 


2O6  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

which  sounded  distinctly  enough  on  the  gravel 
path  outside  the  windows.  Once  or  twice,  when 
the  soldier's  back  was  turned,  Babet  shook  her 
fist  at  it,  uttering  threats  in  language  that  was 
more  fervent  than  pious. 

"  My  poor  lamb  !  "  she  muttered,  her  thoughts 
returning  to  Rosaline,  "  what  will  she  do  in  the 
hands  of  this  wolf?  Nom  de  del !  if  I  could  but 
tear  his  throat !  " 

The  hunchback  did  not  heed  her;  he  was 
staring  at  the  floor  with  vacant  eyes.  He  meant 
to  save  mademoiselle  if  he  could,  but  how? 
His  lips  moved  now  and  then,  and  his  brown 
hands  twitched  nervously,  but  his  ears  were 
straining  to  catch  the  slightest  sound.  Presently 
Babet  turned  around,  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
flashed  upon  her ;  she  picked  up  the  tongs  from 
beside  the  fire,  and  hiding  them  under  her  apron 
walked  deliberately  out  of  the  kitchen,  slamming 
Ihe  door  behind  her.  The  sound  brought  the 
sentry  at  a  run,  and  they  met  face  to  face. 
Without  a  word,  Babet  lifted  the  tongs,  and, 
snapping  them  on  to  the  brim  of  his  hat,  flung 
it  over  the  hedge. 

"  There,  you  varlet !  "  she  exclaimed,  holding 


ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FRIENDS          2O/ 

the  tongs  close  to  the  end  of  his  nose,  "  learn  to 
take  off  your  hat  to  a  decent  woman,  who 's 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother,  and  stop  star- 
ing in  the  window  with  those  goggle  eyes  of 
yours.  I  'm  no  jail-bird,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  Mother !  "  ejaculated  the  astonished  dra- 
goon, "  you  old  gray  cat !  Dame  !  if  I  do  not 
wring  your  neck  for  your  impudence  when  M. 
le  Capitaine  has  gone." 

"  Humph  !  "  retorted  Babet,  grimly,  "  you  '11 
find  it  tough,  man  fils.  Your  hat  is  in  the  briar 
bush,  my  lad ;  "  and  she  walked  back  into  the 
house  with  a  grim  smile  of  triumph,  leaving 
the  soldier  cursing  her  while  he  searched  for 
his  hat. 

Babet  did  not  return  to  the  kitchen ;  she  pro- 
ceeded up  the  stairs  to  the  room  where  Rosa- 
line was  talking  to  M.  de  Baudri.  The  door  was 
closed ;  but  refined  scruples  were  not  among 
the  good  housekeeper's  faults,  and  she  calmly 
applied  her  ear  to  the  keyhole,  all  the  while 
clasping  the  tongs  fiercely  under  her  apron ; 
and  for  the  next  twenty  minutes  her  face  was 
a  picture.  More  than  once  she  had  her  hand 
on  the  latch,  but  prudence  finally  prevailed,  and 


2O8  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

three  minutes  before  M.  de  Baudri  emerged,  she 
made  her  way  cautiously  back  to  the  kitchen. 
She  had  heard  enough  to  understand  the  whole, 
and  she  descended  upon  the  cobbler  like  an 
avalanche,  carrying  all  before  her.  In  the 
storm  of  her  indignation  she  could  not  remain 
silent,  and  she  poured  out  the  whole  story  of 
M.  de  Baudri's  shameless  persecution  of  his 
prisoner.  Le  Bossu  had  long  ago  learned  the 
lesson  of  self-control,  and  he  listened  with  com- 
posure, though  his  face  seemed  to  have  aged 
since  the  morning. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  cried  Babet,  regardless  now  of 
the  sentry's  stare,  "  he  would  force  that  white 
dove  to  marry  him  !  That  villain  de  Baudri  — 
may  the  bon  Dieu  blast  him  as  the  great  chest- 
nut-tree yonder  was  blasted  with  lightning  !  He 
—  the  rogue  —  would  make  mademoiselle  sell 
herself  to  him  to  save  old  madame  and  her 
lover.  Woe  is  me,  why  did  that  man  d'Agues- 
seau  ever  come  here?  " 

The  hunchback  looked  up,  surprise  in  his  dull 
eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  "save 
her  lover?  Her  lover  is  safe  in  the  Cevennes." 


ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FRIENDS          2OO, 

"  Much  you  know !  "  retorted  the  woman, 
scornfully ;  "  it  seems  that  he  was  captured  this 
morning." 

The  cobbler  was  silent  a  moment,  thinking 
deeply. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  You  think  it  a  lie  of  that  devil's  ? "  asked 
Babet,  eagerly. 

He  nodded.  "  M.  de  Baudri  is  doing  it  to 
force  her  to  yield,"  he  said  slowly ;  "  he  has 
sworn  to  marry  her.  I  do  not  believe  that 
he  has  taken  one  Huguenot  prisoner  to-day, 
save  — "  he  stopped,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  at  the  sentry,  who  kept  staring  in  with 
a  furious  face. 

"  Dieu,  what  a  fiend ! "  exclaimed  Babet, 
thrusting  her  tongs  into  the  fire,  where  they 
would  heat,  after  casting  a  vicious  glance  toward 
the  window.  "  He  has  given  mademoiselle  un- 
til to-morrow  morning  to  decide,"she  added. 

"  What  will  she  do?"  the  cobbler  asked  in  a 
strange  voice. 

"  Do  ?  oh,  I  know  her !  "  the  woman  retorted 
with  a  snort ;  "  to  save  those  two  she  would 
die.  She'll  marry  him  unless  —  "  Babet  thrust 


2IO  THE   COBBLER  OF  NJMES 

the  tongs  deeper  in  the  coals,  "  unless  I  wring 
his  neck !  " 

"  That  cannot  be  done,"  remarked  le  Bossu, 
soberly,  "but  something  must  be  done  to-night." 

"What?"  snapped  his  companion,  "what  can 
a  hunchback  and  an  old  woman  do?  A  pretty 
pair  of  birds  for  such  an  emergency.  Leer  away, 
young  man ;  I  have  the  tongs  ready  for  you  !  " 
she  added  in  an  aside,  her  fierce  eyes  on  the 
window. 

"  Has  she  one  true  friend  with  influence  in 
Nlmes?"  the  cobbler  asked. 

Babet  shook  her  head,  and  then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought,  — 

"  There  is  Pere  Ambroise,"  she  said. 

Le  Bossu's  face  brightened.  "  Good  !  "  he 
said,  "  the  priest  can  do  much ;  and  now,  I  am  a 
Catholic,  Babet,  but  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven, 
I  mean  no  harm  !  Is  there  any  boy  or  man  who 
could  carry  a  message  amongst  the  Camisards?" 

Babet  had  grown  reckless  in  her  misery  over 
mademoiselle ;  she  did  not  hesitate  to  reply. 

"There  is  the  blacksmith's  boy  at  St. 
Cesaire,"  she  said,  "  a  good  child,  and  active 
as  a  wild  hare.  What  do  you  want  of  him  ? " 


ROSALINE'S  HUMBLE  FR TENDS  211 

"  If  possible,  I  must  find  M.  d'Aguesseau," 
he  replied,  "  and  also  Pere  Ambroise ;  I  cannot 
do  both  without  help." 

"And  if  M.  d'Aguesseau  is  in  prison,"  sug- 
gested Babet,  grimly. 

"The  will  of  Heaven  be  done,"  replied  the 
cobbler,  calmly,  "  but  Pere  Ambroise  shall  be 
here  before  dawn,"  and  he  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"How  will  you  get  out?"  asked  the  woman, 
eying  him  curiously. 

"You  will  see,"  he  rejoined,  and  quietly 
gathering  up  his  bag  of  tools,  he  left  the  kitchen 
and  walked  through  the  hall. 

M.  de  Baudri  had  just  left  by  the  front  way, 
and  the  cobbler  went  out  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  There  was  a  high  row  of  box  beside  the 
path,  and  dropping  on  his  hands  and  knees  he 
crept  along  behind  it,  past  the  sentry  on  that 
side.  He  had  to  move  very  slowly  and  softly, 
avoiding  every  dry  twig  and  even  the  dead  leaves, 
but  he  reached  the  outer  hedge  at  last.  Here 
there  was  a  hole,  through  which  Truffe  passed  in 
and  out.  The  cobbler  thrust  his  bag  through 
and  then  followed  it;  his  face  and  hands  were 
scratched,  but  what  of  that?  He  rose  from  his 


212  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

knees  in  the  open  road,  and,  shaking  off  the 
dust,  shouldered  his  load  and  walked  on,  limping 
more  painfully  than  usual.  He  had  to  pass  one 
guard,  but  this  man  did  not  know  that  he  had 
been  in  the  house  and  saw  nothing  unusual  in 
the  appearance  of  the  little  cobbler  of  St. 
Antoine. 

"You  are  late,  le  Bossu,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly. 

"  The  shoes  fit  too  well,"  retorted  the  hunch- 
back, coolly,  "  and  my  patron  is  rich." 

"  Pardieu! "  the  soldier  exclaimed  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  will  borrow  to-morrow  morning.  We 
have  a  bag  of  heretics  here." 

"  Mtre  de  Dieu,  burn  them,  —  all  but  the 
shoes !  "  said  le  Bossu,  and  walked  calmly  on. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"MORTIS   PORTIS   FRACTIS " 

IT  was  daybreak ;  the  pale  sky  was  luminous, 
and  the  golden  east  throbbed  with  the  approach- 
ing glory.  Already  the  hill-tops  were  radiant, 
but  the  low  country  lay  in  the  shadow,  and  a 
white  mist  floated  over  the  valleys.  The  air 
was  full  of  the  twittering  of  birds,  and  all  the  life 
in  Nature  began  to  stir.  There  were  no  travellers 
on  the  high-road  so  early,  save  one,  a  corpulent 
priest,  mounted  on  a  stout  mule,  proceeding 
toward  St.  Cyr.  Pere  Ambroise  detested  extra- 
ordinary exertion,  but  he  had  yielded  to  the  im- 
portunities of  the  cobbler.  For  his  own  part, 
he  thought  that  ten  o'clock  was  soon  enough  to 
deal  with  M.  de  Baudri,  but  he  had  roused  him- 
self and  set  out  at  an  unearthly  hour  because  of 
le  Bossu's  representations.  No  man  could 
regret  the  trouble  at  the  chateau  de  St.  Cyr 
more  sincerely  than  he  did ;  he  had  labored  to 
protect  these  two  defenceless  women,  and  he  saw 


214  THE   COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

no  profit  in  madame's  arrest.  Pere  Ambroise 
would  never  be  numbered  with  the  persecutors ; 
he  cared  more  for  a  bottle  of  good  wine  from 
the  vintage  of  the  Vaunage  than  he  did  for  the 
arrest  of  a  score  of  heretics.  Besides,  he  had 
no  real  love  for  M.  de  Baudri,  and  he  foresaw 
M.  de  Baudri's  triumph.  Pere  Ambroise  wanted 
to  convert  Rosaline ;  he  wanted  to  see  her  either 
in  a  convent  or  wedded  to  a  good  son  of  the 
Church,  but  he  could  not  digest  the  prospect  of 
this  particular  bridegroom.  He  had  not  the 
smallest  respect  for  Rosaline's  religious  convic- 
tions or  scruples ;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
regard  them  with  anything  but  contempt  or 
hatred,  but  he  really  cared  for  the  girl's  welfare. 
He  had  known  her  from  a  child,  and  he  felt  a 
sincere  affection  for  her.  For  her  sake  he  had 
spared  Madame  de  St.  Cyr,  and  he  had  no 
desire  now  to  give  her  pain.  He  rode  along, 
therefore,  revolving  all  these  matters  in  his  mind, 
and  wondering  how  far  he  could  trespass  on 
the  patience  and  friendship  of  the  Intendant  of 
Languedoc,  —  the  only  man  who  could  take  M. 
de  Baudri  in  hand.  The  result  of  Pere  Am- 
broise's  ruminations  was  not  satisfactory;  he 


"MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACTIS"  21$ 

advanced  at  a  leisurely  pace,  for  his  mule  was 
nearly  as  stout  as  he  was,  and  the  sun  rose  in 
all  its  splendor  as  he  approached  St.  Cyr.  He 
disliked  effort  and  excitement,  and  he  could 
devise  no  easy  and  comfortable  way  out  of  the 
dilemma.  After  all,  perhaps  she  would  have  to 
marry  M.  de  Baudri ;  at  least,  that  ought  to 
bring  her  into  the  church,  and  if  she  remained  a 
heretic  ?  Well,  Pere  Ambroise  reflected  with  a 
broad  smile,  that  alternative  would  furnish  him 
with  a  rod  to  hold  over  the  stubborn  head  of 
M.  le  Capitaine.  The  good  father's  fat  sides 
shook  a  little  with  silent  laughter  as  he  drew 
rein  at  the  gate  of  the  chateau.  Ame  de  St. 
Denis  !  he  would  make  M.  de  Baudri  dance  to 
a  pretty  tune  before  the  Intendant ;  there  were 
compensations,  no  matter  what  the  result. 

The  sentry  —  the  same  young  man  who  had 
been  disciplined  by  Babet  —  received  the  priest 
with  respect ;  his  instructions  had  not  mentioned 
Pere  Ambroise,  and  the  stout,  black-robed  figure 
ambled  placidly  up  the  gravel  path  and  entered 
by  way  of  the  kitchen.  This  was  empty,  for 
Babet  had  deserted  her  fortress  for  the  moment 
to  wait  on  her  young  mistress.  The  priest  pro- 


2l6  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

ceeded  through  the  house  and  was  greeted  at 
the  stairs  by  Truffe,  who  knew  him.  He 
climbed  up  in  a  leisurely  way,  panting  at  each 
step,  and,  entering  the  sitting-room,  found  Rosa- 
line and  her  faithful  attendant.  The  young  girl 
hailed  his  entrance  with  relief  and  hope,  and 
something  like  life  came  back  into  her  white 
face. 

Pere  Ambroise  was  touched  by  her  evident 
confidence  in  his  good  will,  and  seating  himself 
comfortably,  he  dismissed  Babet  with  a  placid 
air  of  authority  that  sent  her  fuming  to  the 
kitchen,  where  she  resumed  her  task  of  heat- 
ing the  fire-irons.  She  was  determined  not  to  be 
taken  unawares,  and  the  sentry  —  perfectly  ac- 
quainted with  her  occupation  —  kept  his  dis- 
tance and  bided  his  time. 

Meanwhile,  in  response  to  a  few  well-directed 
questions,  Rosaline  told  her  story,  which  was 
substantially  the  same  as  the  one  already  re- 
cited by  le  Bossu.  A  man  less  keen  than  Perc 
Ambroise  would  have  detected  her  resolution 
in  her  manner,  and  he  was  not  unprepared  for 
her  answer  when  he  asked  her  what  she  intended 
to  do.  She  was  standing  in  front  of  him,  her 


"MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACTIS"  2 1/ 

hands  clasped  loosely  before  her,  and  her  head 
erect,  but  her  face  was  like  marble,  white  and 
still. 

"  I  have  no  choice,  man  ptre"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice ;  "  no  one  cares  for  a  heretic.  It  is 
my  duty  to  save  my  grandmother.  I  cannot  let 
her  die  for  my  happiness  !  Mon  Dien  /  what  a 
monster  I  should  be  !  I  must  consent  to  M.  de 
Baudri's  terms,  and  then  —  "  she  paused,  draw- 
ing a  deep  breath  and  her  clear  blue  eyes  looked 
out,  away  toward  the  grim  mountains  of  the 
north,  "  and  then  I  know  that  the  bon  Dieu  will 
release  me.  He  will  send  me  death  —  sweet 
death  —  for  my  bridegroom  !  " 

Pere  Ambroise  regarded  her  thoughtfully. 
For  his  times,  he  was  a  liberal  man,  and  he 
did  not  immediately  foresee  hell  fires.  He 
saw  only  a  pure  and  defenceless  girl,  and  his 
heart  smote  him. 

"  The  bon  Dieu  is  offended  with  you  for 
heresy,  Rosaline,"  he  remarked  calmly ;  "  that 
is  the  cause  of  your  misfortunes." 

Rosaline  looked  at  him  searchingly ;  she  had 
long  ago  weighed  Pere  Ambroise  and  found 
him  wanting. 


2l8  THE   COBBLER  OF  N?MES 

"  He  is  my  Judge,"  she  replied,  and  closed 
her  lips  firmly. 

It  was  not  the  hour  for  religious  controversy, 
and  the  priest  knew  it;  he  pursed  up  his  lips 
and  was  silent.  But  she  had  a  purpose  at 
heart,  and  not  even  his  frowns  discouraged  it. 

"  Pere  Ambroise,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  go 
into  Nimes  now  —  at  once  —  to  see  my  grand- 
mother. I  will  consent  to  nothing  until  I  do  — 
you  can  get  this  favor  for  me  —  I  ask  nothing 
else,  but  oh,  do  this. for  me  !  " 

Pere  Ambroise  had  been  considering  many 
things,  and  he  was  not  unwilling  to  listen  to  so 
reasonable  a  desire.  Indeed,  he  had  been  think- 
ing with  some  pity  of  poor  old  Madame  de  St. 
Cyr. 

"It  shall  be  done,"  he  said,  "  but  not  until  M. 
de  Baudri  comes ;  I  have  no  authority,  but  he 
cannot  refuse  this  at  my  request." 

Rosaline  thanked  him  without  emotion ;  the 
girl's  passionate  grief  and  rebellion  had  spent 
itself  in  a  night  of  agony ;  she  had  reached  the 
dead  level  of  despair.  She  still  believed  her 
lover  to  be  a  prisoner,  for  Babet  had  been  too 
wise  to  hold  out  uncertain  hopes,  and  Rosaline 


" MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACTIS"  2 19 

had  made  up  her  mind  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
her  two  loved  ones,  and  the  sacrifice  she  con- 
templated was  worse  to  her  than  death.  No 
victim  was  ever  prepared  to  be  laid  on  the 
altar  with  a  greater  vigil  of  misery.  She  would 
have  died  gladly,  but  this  was  far  more  terrible 
and  more  degrading.  She  was  in  a  stupor  of 
misery,  but  yet  too  wise  to  expect  relief  from 
Pere  Ambroise.  His  point  of  view  and  hers 
were  sundered  as  widely  as  the  poles.  To 
him  it  was  only  an  undesirable  step  toward 
her  conversion,  and  a  certain  way  of  saving  her 
life. 

It  was  early,  and  the  placid  father  left  the 
victim  to  her  reflections  and,  proceeding  to 
the  pantry,  foraged  with  some  comfort.  He 
was  too  intimately  acquainted  with  Babet's  pe- 
culiarities to  approach  her  at  such  a  moment 
with  a  demand  for  breakfast,  but  he  managed  to 
comfort  the  inner  man  with  the  remains  of  a 
cold  chicken  pasty  and  a  salad,  and  some  more 
diligent  search  unearthed  a  small  bottle  of  eau- 
de-vie,  so  that  he  emerged  from  his  seclusion,  at 
last,  wiping  his  lips  and  with  an  air  of  satisfac- 
tion. After  this,  he  mounted  his  spectacles  and 


22O  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

searched  Madame  de  St.  Cyr's  little  library  for 
heretical  books,  but  the  old  gentlewoman  had 
been  too  cautious  to  be  so  easily  betrayed,  and 
he  found  nothing  of  interest. 

Thus  it  happened  that  when  M.  de  Baudri 
arrived  at  ten  o'clock  he  found  Pere  Ambroise 
in  possession,  and  fell  to  cursing  his  luck,  know- 
ing well  enough  that  the  priest  had  both  the 
will  and  the  power  to  hamper  his  designs.  He 
held  the  corpulent  father  in  supreme  contempt, 
but  he  dared  not  insult  him  at  a  time  when  the 
priests  were  supreme,  nor  could  he  drive  Rosa- 
line to  extremities  while  she  had  such  a  respect- 
able protector.  M.  de  Baudri  was  a  keen  man, 
and  he  saw  that  a  few  concessions  might  gain 
an  ally,  while  insolence  would  make  an  undesir- 
able enemy.  There  was  no  hope  of  his  marry- 
ing Rosaline  if  Pere  Ambroise  chose  to  declare 
her  a  heretic  and  have  her  shut  up  in  a  convent. 
The  priest  held  the  winning  card  and  knew  it, 
and  it  took  him  only  half  an  hour  to  arrange 
that  the  young  girl  should  accompany  him  to 
see  her  grandmother,  under  the  escort  of  M.  de 
Baudri  and  his  dragoons. 

Before    eleven,  therefore,  they  were    on   the 


"MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACT7S"  221 

road  to  Nimes.  A  carnage  had  been  obtained 
at  St.  Ce"saire,  and  the  priest,  Rosaline,  and 
Babet  sat  within  it,  while  M.  de  Baudri  rode 
beside  it  and  a  guard  of  dragoons  followed  at  a 
short  distance.  Rosaline  felt  herself  to  be  on 
the  way  to  an  open  grave,  and  she  leaned  back 
in  her  corner  with  closed  eyes.  No  one  spoke, 
and  the  drive  was  taken  in  silence.  Finally 
they  passed  through  the  Porte  de  France  and 
then  proceeded  more  slowly  through  the  streets. 
The  noises  of  the  city  aroused  the  poor  girl  a 
little,  and  she  looked  out,  only  to  shrink  again 
from  the  curious  stare  of  the  crowd.  On  the 
carriage  went,  turning  at  last  into  a  long  street 
and  then  stopping  at  the  door  of  the  common 
jail.  Happily  for  Rosaline,  she  did  not  recog- 
nize t  it,  though  she  shuddered  as  she  passed 
under  the  grim  portal  with  Pere  Ambroise. 
They  were  alone,  the  others  remaining  without, 
and  they  were  admitted  with  but  little  parley. 
Like  a  somnambulist,  the  girl  passed  through  a 
gloomy  corridor  and  saw  the  jailer  unfastening 
the  bolts  of  a  strong  door.  The  man  threw  it 
open  and  stood  back,  and  Rosaline  did  not  heed 
his  remark  to  the  priest. 


222  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  mon  ph'e,  "  he  said, 
with  a  brutal  laugh. 

They  stood  at  the  entrance  of  a  narrow  cell 
lighted  by  one  small  window,  and  on  the 
wretched  pallet  lay  the  motionless  form  of 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr.  At  the  sight  of  her  grand- 
mother's face  Rosaline  awoke  from  her  dream 
and  running  forward,  fell  on  her  knees  beside 
her  with  a  cry  of  surprise  and  anguish.  Pere 
Ambroise  hastily  closed  the  door  behind  him ; 
he  did  not  need  to  look  a  second  time  to  see 
that  M.  de  Baudri  was  to  be  defrauded  of  one 
victim. 

"  Speak  to  me,  grand'm^re,"  Rosaline  cried 
pitifully.  "  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  why  did  I  ask  for 
one  night  to  decide?  Twelve  hours  ago  I 
might  have  saved  her  !  " 

The  sound  of  a  beloved  voice  often  rouses 
even  the  dying ;  Madame  de  St.  Cyr  stirred  and 
opened  her  eyes.  They  dwelt  lovingly  on  the 
girl  for  a  moment,  and  then  memory  returned 
and  an  expression  of  horror  came  into  her  face. 

"  Merciful  Heaven !  "  she  gasped,  rallying  her 
forces.  "Are  you  here,  my  darling?  —  now  is 
death  bitter  indeed  !  " 


"MORTIS  PORTIS  FRACTIS"  22$ 

"  She  is  safe,"  Pere  Ambroise  interposed,  his 
heart  touched  at  last;  "  I  will  protect  her." 

The  old  woman  gave  him  a  look  of  ineffable 
gratitude;  she  was  almost  beyond  speech,  but 
she  laid  one  hand  feebly  on  Rosaline's  head,  and 
her  lips  moved  as  she  blessed  her. 

"  Thank  the  bon  Dieu"  she  murmured  faintly, 
"  the  old  tree  was  cut  —  down  —  and  the  flower 
—  spared  !  Weep  not,  my  child.  Beyond  — 
there  is  peace." 

Rosaline's  slender  frame  was  shaken  with 
agony. 

"  Live  for  me,  grand  'mtre!"  she  cried ;  "  now 
indeed  am  I  desolate  —  and  I  would  have  saved 


But  the  end  was  too  near  for  the  dying 
woman  to  understand  ;  she  sank  back  with  closed 
eyes  and  Pere  Ambroise  began  to  recite  the 
prayer  for  the  dying.  In  his  emotion  he  forgot 
that  she  was  a  heretic.  Rosaline  clung  to  her 
in  an  agony  of  grief  and  self-abnegation, 

"  Oh,  let  me  save  you  !  "  she  cried  ;  "live  that 
I  may  die  for  you  !  " 

Madame  opened  her  eyes,  there  was  a  placid 
smile  on  her  face,  she  had  forgotten  all  the 


224  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?ME$> 

terror  and  the  pain,  prison  walls  held  her  no 
more. 

"  There  is  no  anguish,"  she  said  softly,  look- 
ing away  into  space,  "  only  light  —  my  husband 
—  my  son  —  the  ban  Dieu  be  praised  —  there 
shall  be  peace  !  " 

She  spoke  no  more ;  there  was  no  sound  but 
Pere  Ambroise's  Latin  and  Rosaline's  weeping. 
The  dying  woman  lay  still,  and  the  clear  eyes 
still  looked  triumphantly  beyond  this  world's 
agony,  and  almost  without  a  sigh  the  gentle 
soul  escaped  from  prison.  Death,  the  Deliv- 
erer, opened  the  gates 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  COBBLER'S  FAITH 

PERE  AMBROISE  was  plentifully  supplied  with 
this  world's  goods,  and  he  had  a  house  of  his 
own  in  Nimes,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
Esplanade,  where  he  lived  in  comfort  and  se- 
curity, with  no  fear  of  the  Camisard  raids.  To 
the  right  of  the  door  of  this  house  was  a  com- 
fortable room,  furnished  with  many  luxuries: 
soft  rugs,  deep  arm-chairs,  tapestry-hangings,  a 
huge  fireplace,  where  the  logs  burned  cheerfully 
on  the  great  andirons.  And  here  Pere  Am- 
broise  sat  entertaining  M.  de  Baudri  over  a 
bottle  of  rare  wine,  on  the  evening  of  that  event- 
ful day.  They  had  both  dined  well,  and  the 
good  father's  rubicund  face  wore  an  expression 
of  satisfaction,  while  his  guest  was  visibly  dis- 
contented. The  fact  was  that  Pere  Ambroise 
was  in  command  of  the  situation,  and  he  had 
forced  the  soldier  to  yield  at  all  points.  At  that 
moment  Rosaline  was  secure  in  one  of  his 
upper  rooms,  and  he  was  in  a  position  to  dictate 
15 


226  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

his  own  terms.  If  he  chose  he  could  declare 
her  a  heretic  and  immure  her  in  a  convent  for 
life;  M.  de  Baudri's  only  chances  of  being  a 
bridegroom  lay  in  his  ability  to  propitiate  the 
priest.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  distaste- 
ful to  the  soldier  than  this  unexpected  turn  of 
affairs ;  he  was  accustomed  to  command  and 
not  to  sue,  and  now  he  was  forced  to  persuade  a 
man  who  disliked  him  to  look  at  things  from 
his  point  of  view.  He  cursed  his  luck  in  secret, 
and  tried  to  smile  over  his  wine ;  never  had  he 
been  more  neatly  balked  in  his  purposes  —  nor 
by  a  more  contemptible  enemy.  Meanwhile 
Pere  Ambroise  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
regarded  him  from  between  his  half-closed 
lids,  mightily  diverted  by  the  other's  discomfi- 
ture, and  not  yet  entirely  decided  on  his  own 
course.  He  was  not  sure  that  it  would  be  a 
merciful  thing  to  shut  Rosaline  up  in  a  convent 
for  life,  and  Pere  Ambroise  was  one  of  those 
men  who  cannot  be  ill-natured  after  a  good 
dinner.  He  raised  his  wine-glass  in  his  fat 
fingers  and  held  it  before  the  candle  that  he 
might  admire  the  delicate  amber  color  of  the 
wine  before  he  drank  it,  and  all  his  movements 


THE   COBBLER'S  FAITH  22/ 

were  deliberate  and  comfortable.  His  placidity 
goaded  M.  de  Baudri  to  the  verge  of  murder. 

"  You  cannot  marry  a  heretic,  my  son,"  Pere 
Ambroise  remarked  pleasantly ;  "  therefore  you 
must  either  allow  her  to  go  to  her  fate  —  which, 
by  the  way,  is  of  your  preparing  —  or  wait  until 
she  is  converted." 

"  Dame !  do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ? "  ex- 
claimed his  companion.  "  How  long  have  you 
been  at  this  hopeful  business  of  conversion?  " 

"  Only  since  I  have  known  her  to  be  a  her- 
etic," the  priest  replied  composedly. 

"  Sacristi !  convert  a  heretic!"  de  Baudri 
laughed;  "how  many  are  ever  converted?" 

"  Large  numbers  —  in  some  circumstances," 
Pere  Ambroise  said,  with  a  broad  smile ;  "  't  is 
said  that  Du  Chayla  had  a  basement  full  of  con- 
verts when  their  misguided  friends  arose  and 
murdered  him  at  Pont-de-Montvert ;  a  poor  re- 
quital for  his  zeal,  monsieur.  As  for  myself,"  — 
he  waved  his  fat  hands,  —  "  I  am  a  man  of  peace, 
and  I  have  ever  labored  to  save  these  misguided 
people  from  violence." 

M.  de  Baudri  was  leaning  his  el£>ow  on  the 
table,  staring  gloomily  at  the  floor. 


228  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

"  Mhe  de  Dieu  !  "  he  said  bitterly ;  "  they  are 
all  only  fit  for  hanging." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  hang  made- 
moiselle," his  companion  remarked,  refilling  his 
glass  cautiously,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  disturb 
his  brain  with  the  fumes  of  liquor. 

M.  de  Baudri  looked  at  him  darkly. 

"  I  do  her  great  honor  in  offering  to  marry 
her,"  he  said  harshly. 

Pere  Ambroise  nodded  his  head  approvingly, 
and  took  a  sip  of  wine. 

"  Assuredly,"  he  said ;  "  so  great  an  honor 
that  I  am  inclined  to  prevent  you.  A  true  son 
of  the  Church  should  not  wed  a  heretic.  The 
proper  destination  for  her  is  a  convent." 

The  younger  man  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  You  old  fox,  you,  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  do 
not  want  me  to  marry  the  girl  —  I  believe  you 
want  her  yourself! " 

Pere  Ambroise  turned  his  eyes  piously  toward 
heaven. 

"The  saints  forbid!"  he  murmured.  "You 
have  an  unbridled  tongue,  mon  fils,  and  deserve 
discipline  for  offering  an  insult  to  one  in  holy 
orders." 


THE    COBBLER'S  FAITH  22Q 

The  officer  laughed.  "Dame,  you  old 
rogue  !  "  he  said,  "  do  you  fat  fathers  take  us  for 
fools?  Hark!"  he  added  sharply,  pausing  to 
listen,  "what  is  that?  I  heard  the  dog  bark." 

"  Rosaline's  poodle,"  replied  the  priest,  undis- 
turbed. 

M.  de  Baudri  was  suspicious.  "  Have  you 
got  her  secure?"  he  demanded  imperiously. 

"  Absolutely  secure,"  retorted  his  companion, 
indifferently;  "my  servants  are  faithful,  and  her 
door  is  fastened  by  an  oaken  bar  too  strong  for 
two  women  to  force.  Compose  yourself,  mon 
fits;  you  consented  to  this  respite;  she  was  to 
have  until  eight  to-morrow  morning  for  reflec- 
tion, and  she  has  reason  enough  to  make  good 
use  of  the  time.  Her  grandmother  is  dead  and 
she  has  no  defender  but  me.  She  will  not  re- 
sist my  authority,  but  you  take  a  strange  way  to 
propitiate  me  and  obtain  my  good  offices." 

M.  de  Baudri  gnawed  his  lip  with  a  lowering 
expression  on  his  face.  „ 

"  I  shall  have  to  come  to  your  terms,  I  sup- 
pose, mon  ptre"  he  said  at  last  with  an  effort  to 
appear  congenial. 

"  That  is  more  to  the  point,"  Pere  Ambroise 


230  THE   COBBLER   OF  N^MES 

remarked  pleasantly,  and  leaned  over  to  fill  his 
guest's  glass  again. 

While  these  two  worthies  talked  and  drank,  a 
very  different  scene  was  being  enacted  in  the 
second  story  of  the  house.  Here,  in  a  large 
back  room,  Rosaline  and  Babet  were  confined ; 
the  woman  sitting  stiffly  upright  in  a  chair  by 
the  table,  where  the  candles  were  set,  while 
Rosaline  had  thrown  herself  face  downward  on 
the  bed,  in  a  silent  agony  of  grief  and  despair. 
Between  the  two  was  the  black  poodle  Truffe, 
her  ears  pointed,  silent  and  watchful  after  the 
fashion  of  dogs  in  new  places. 

Babet  ventured  upon  no  consolation ;  she 
stared  grimly  before  her  with  unwinking  eyes. 
She  was  thinking  of  her  own  fate ;  there  was  no 
one  to  interpose  for  her,  and  her  destiny  was 
probably  the  Tour  de  Constance.  She  tried  to 
recall  all  she  had  heard  of  this  fearful  prison 
at  Aiguemortes,  of  the  malarious  swamps  about 
it,  of  the  smells  that  arose  at  low  tide,  of  the 
hideous  cruelties  practised  in  its  loathsome 
dungeons,  of  the  sick  and  dying,  whose  bodies 
were  denied  decent  burial.  Grim  and  strong  as 
old  Babet  was,  her  cheek  blanched  at  the  thought, 


THE    COBBLER'S  FAITH  2$l 

and,  for  the  moment,  she  forgot  even  her  ewe- 
lamb.  (^The  most  unselfish  soul  must  fight  its 
own  battle  sometime,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
else.) 

Meanwhile  Rosaline  lay  there  with  her  face 
hidden  on  her  arms ;  her  grandmother's  death 
had  bereaved  her  of  one  who  might  have  re- 
mained with  her,  helping  her  to  endure  her  lot, 
for  she  hoped  for  no  release ;  she  must  pur- 
chase her  lover's  liberty  and  life  at  the  expense 
of  her  own  happiness.  M.  de  Baudri  had  taken 
care  to  remind  her  that  he  still  held  the  fate 
of  Francois  d'Aguesseau  in  his  hand,  and  she 
knew  that  the  sacrifice  must  still  be  made.  If 
Francois  divined  it,  he  would  refuse  his  life  at 
such  a  cost,  —  that  she  knew ;  but  he  would 
never  know,  he  might  even  think  her  false  and 
lightly  won  !  But  all  these  things  were  small 
compared  with  the  alternative;  it  was  not  for 
her  to  send  him  to  the  gallows,  or  worse,  to 
make  him  a  galley  slave,  that  she  might  escape 
M.  de  Baudri.  Again  she  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  her  fate ;  the  lowest  dungeons  of  the 
Tour  de  Constance  would  be  heaven  compared 
with  such  a  marriage !  She  shrank  from  it  as 


232  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

all  pure  women  shrink  from  any  marriage  that 
is  not  founded  on  the  highest  and  purest 
motives.  Her  very  flesh  rebelled  against  her 
spirit,  and  she  lay  there  shivering,  like  one 
stricken  with  ague.  Yet  strong  is  love;  she 
must  save  him,  and  then,  oh,  she  prayed  the 
bon  Dieu  to  release  her ! 

In  spite  of  all  this  misery,  time  passed.  The 
house  was  quiet,  no  sounds  came  from  below, 
and  practical  Babet  began  to  wonder  what  time 
it  was.  There  was  no  clock  in  the  room,  and 
she  could  not  conjecture  the  hour;  it  seemed 
as  if  they  had  been  there  an  age.  Just  at  this 
moment  she  heard  some  one  lift  the  bar  out- 
side the  door,  and  Truffe  barked.  Babet 
pounced  upon  her,  muffled  her  head  in  her 
petticoat,  and  then  she  listened  intently.  The 
visitor  could  not  enter,  for  she  had  secured 
the  door  within.  There  was  a  soft  knock  on 
the  panels,  and  Rosaline  rose  with  a  white  face, 
and  stood  waiting.  The  knock  was  repeated, 
and  some  one  spoke  their  names  very  low.  The 
voice  seemed  familiar,  and  the  young  girl  went 
to  the  door  and  listened  again. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Cyr,"  the  visitor  whis- 


THE    COBBLER'S  FAITH  233 

pered,  "open  the  door  —  'tis  I,  Chariot  the 
cobbler." 

Babet  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  Rosaline 
unfastened  the  lock  and  admitted  the  hunch- 
back. He  looked  old  and  worn,  and  carried 
his  green  bag,  and  he  paused  just  inside  the 
door,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  he 
doubted  his  reception. 

"Why  have  you  come,  Chariot?"  Rosaline 
asked  sadly. 

"  I  have  come  to  help  you  to  get  away, 
mademoiselle,"  he  replied  simply,  hurt  past 
reason  by  their  indifference,  but  bearing  it,  as 
he  bore  all  things,  as  a  part  of  his  lot. 

Rosaline  shook  her  head.  "  I  cannot  go," 
she  said,  "but  Babet — you  will  save  Babet, 
Chariot." 

"  del !"  ejaculated  that  woman  sharply,  "he 
will  save  me,  will  he?  And  what  do  you 
propose  to  do?  " 

The  young  girl  did  not  heed  her,  nor  did  the 
cobbler. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  your  grand- 
mother is  dead,  and  M.  d'Aguesseau  was 
never  captured." 


234  THE   COBBLER   OF  NtMES 

Rosaline  stood  looking  at  him  with  parted 
lips,  her  whole  form  quivering  with  emotion. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  she  said,  "  was  it  a  lie?  " 

"  It  was,"  replied  the  cobbler  quietly ;  "  I  have 
sent  a  message  to  him,  he  is  with  Cavalier." 

She  could  not  believe  him.  "  Alas !  "  she 
said,  "  you  do  this  to  get  me  away." 

The  cobbler  knelt  down  at  her  feet. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  looking  earnestly 
into  her  face,  "  I  swear  by  all  I  hold  most 
sacred,  that  I  do  not  deceive  you.  M.  d'Agues- 
seau  is  at  liberty,  though  M.  de  Baudri  offers  a 
hundred  crowns  for  his  head." 

Her  strength  failed  her,  she  sank  on  the 
nearest  chair,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
The  reaction  was  too  great  for  resistance ;  it 
seemed  as  if  her  heart  would  stop  beating,  and 
the  room  whirled  about  her.  He  was  safe,  and 
she  was  not  required  to  make  the  sacrifice ! 

The  effect  on  Babet  was  very  different ;  she 
released  Truffe  and  began  to  gather  up  their 
scattered  belongings. 

"  How  can  we  get  out,  Petit  Bossu  ? "  she 
demanded  grimly,  —  "in  your  shoe-bag?" 

"The  servants  are  feasting   in  the  kitchen," 


THE    COBBLER'S  FAITH  235 

the  cobbler  said.  "  Pere  Ambroise  and  M.  de 
Baudri  are  drinking  below,  and  the  stairs  are 
not  two  yards  from  this  door.  We  must  trust 
in  the  bon  Dien" 

As  he  spoke,  he  opened  his  bag  and  took  out 
two  long  cloaks  and  hoods  similar  to  those  worn 
by  an  order  of  Sisters  of  Charity  at  Nimes. 

"Thou  hast  the  mind  of  a  great  general, 
Chariot,"  remarked  Babet,  with  a  queer  smile ; 
"  the  hump  is  a  pity." 

Rosaline  roused  herself  and  looked  at  the 
disguise. 

"  Alas  !  where  can  we  go,  Chariot  ?  "  she 
asked  sadly ;  "  how  can  we  escape  them  ?  " 

"  To-night  you  can  go  to  my  shop,  mademoi- 
selle," he  replied,  quietly,  "  and  to-morrow,  as 
soon  as  the  gates  are  open,  you  can  start  out  to 
St.  Cesaire.  I  have  arranged  with  the  black- 
smith's wife  to  hide  you  until  I  can  guide  you 
to  —  to  a  place  of  safety." 

"  It  may  be  done,"  Rosaline  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought.  "  I  was  to  have  till  eight  to- 
morrow ;  there  is  one  hope  in  a  thousand  —  but 
the  risk  to  you,  Chariot !  " 

The    little    hunchback   smiled.     "  Mademoi- 


236  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

selle,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  am  scarcely  worth 
killing." 

The  tears  shone  in  her  blue  eyes,  but  she  said 
nothing,  partly  because  Babet  was  hurriedly 
muffling  her  in  the  cloak  and  hood. 

A  few  moments  later  they  emerged  from  the 
room,  Babet  carrying  Truffe  under  her  mantle ; 
Chariot  secured  the  door  behind  them,  replac- 
ing the  bar,  and  softly  and  cautiously  they  de- 
scended. They  heard  Pere  Ambroise  speaking, 
in  unctuous  tones,  and  a  coarse  oath  from  M. 
de  Baudri,  on  whom  the  wine  was  having  some 
effect,  but  no  one  heard  them.  The  porter  had 
left  his  place  and  the  door  was  unbolted.  Al- 
most without  noise,  the  three  slipped  out  and 
stood  free  upon  the  open  street. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  THE  WOODS   OF   ST.   CYR 

THE  next  morning  found  Chariot  in  his  shop. 
He  had  spread  his  tools  and  leather  on  his  bench 
with  a  pretence  of  work,  but  he  was  not  working. 
He  sat  watching  his  door  with  eager  eyes,  alert 
and  impatient.  He  was  waiting  for  the  return 
of  the  blacksmith's  boy  whom  he  had  sent  in 
search  of  d'Aguesseau.  Rosaline  and  Babet 
had  walked  out  of  the  gate  of  the  town  as  soon 
as  it  was  opened,  and  must  be  now  near  St. 
Cesaire.  In  le  Bossu's  chamber  a  candle  burned 
before  the  Virgin,  a  prayer  for  the  heretics ;  such 
is  the  inconsistency  of  the  human  heart  and  its 
religion. 

In  a  week  the  little  hunchback  had  grown  old, 
and  his  back  seemed  more  pitifully  bowed  than 
ever.  The  Intendant  of  Languedoc  might  in- 
deed regard  him  as  scarcely  worth  the  killing; 
!  but  no  man  can  see  the  naked  soul  of  his  brother, 
and  it  may  be  vastly  different  from  his  body ;  as 


238  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

different  as  the  abode  on  earth  is  from  the  man- 
sion in  heaven.  "It  is  sown  in  weakness;  it  is 
raised  in  power."  It  is  cast  in  the  shape  of  a 
cripple  on  earth,  it  is  raised  in  the  form  of  an 
angel.)  The  starved  soul  of  le  Bossu  looked  out 
of  his  patient  eyes  and  saw  not  even  a  crumb  of 
comfort  falling  from  the  rich  man's  table,  and 
self  sacrifice  became  the  law  of  his  life. 

He  looked  down  at  his  brown,  toil-worn,  right 
hand,  and  tears  shone  in  his  eyes.  It  was  sanc- 
tified, for  she  had  kissed  it.  He  shrank  within 
himself  at  the  thought,  but  in  her  gratitude  and 
her  relief,  she  had  thanked  him  and  she  had  even 
taken  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  Had  he  not  de- 
livered her  from  a  fate  worse  than  death  ?  and 
was  he  not  her  humble  friend  and  servant? 
Rosaline's  impulse  had  been  followed  by  no 
second  thought;  her  whole  soul  was  filled  with 
the  hope  of  escaping  to  her  lover.  And  the  poor 
little  cobbler  understood  her,  but  he  felt  that  he 
might  fall  down  and  worship  her  still.  No  one 
else  had  ever  considered  him,  no  one  else  had 
ever  been  uniformly  kind  to  him  ;  in  the  parched 
desert  of  his  life  she  alone  had  held  him  a  cup  of 
water.  The  starved  and  empty  heart  held  one 


IN  THE    WOODS  OF  ST.    CYR  239 

image  ;  the  life  —  of  so  little  worth  —  was  at  her 
service. 

The  sun  was  high  enough  now  to  reach  the 
court,  and  the  spot  of  light  on  the  pavement  be- 
gan to  grow,  but  the  weed  that  had  blossomed 
in  June  had  gone  to  seed  and  stood  there  yellow 
and  lean.  One  of  the  children  opposite  was  ill 
of  a  fever,  and  the  other  played  silently,  in  a 
melancholy  way,  on  the  steps.  Le  Bossu's 
glance  lighted  on  her  and  his  heart  was  touched  ; 
it  was  cruel  that  a  heart  so  large  in  its  sympathy 
for  all  sufferers  should  have  been  cast  by  the 
wayside  and  choked  with  thorns.  He  rose  from 
his  bench  and  took  up  a  little  pair  of  shoes,  and 
then  he  opened  his  wallet  and  counted  out  some 
money ;  with  the  shoes  and  the  coin  he  crossed 
the  court  and  gave  them  to  the  little  girl  for  her 
sick  sister.  The  child  stared  at  him  wide-eyed ; 
she  had  shown  him  as  little  mercy  as  the  others, 
and  had  looked  upon  the  hunchback  as  unlike 
other  human  beings.  She  had  not  the  sense  to 
thank  him,  though  she  clasped  his  presents 
greedily  to  her  breast  and  fled  into  the  house, 
half-affrighted  at  the  little  man  with  his  hump. 
The  unwitting  cruelty  of  children  often  hurts  as 


24O  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

much  as  the  coarse  brutality  of  their  parents, 
but  to-day  le  Bossu  smiled.  If  his  life  was 
worth  something  to  Rosaline  de  St.  Cyr,  it  was 
worth  all  the  suffering  of  living  it;  the  bon  Dieu 
had  given  him  a  blessed  compensation. 

He  was  returning  to  the  shop  of  Two  Shoes 
when  another  man  entered  the  court.  The  cob- 
bler looked  about  anxiously,  for  he  had  been 
dreading  the  possible  appearance  of  Pere  Am- 
broise  or  one  of  M.  de  Baudri's  emissaries,  but 
a  second  glance  reassured  him,  for  he  came  face 
to  face  with  Francois  d'Aguesseau.  The  hunch- 
back signed  to  him  to  follow  him  in  to  his  shop 
and  then  closed  the  door. 

"Where  is  she?"  demanded  d'Aguesseau,  in 
an  agitated  tone.  °*  I  received  your  message, 
and  I  am  here." 

The  cobbler  looked  at  him  strangely.  "  Did 
you  come  to  release  mademoiselle  single- 
handed?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"  I  came  to  save  her  —  if  mortal  man  can  do 
it,"  he  retorted  sternly.  "  It  may  be  that  they 
will  take  me  in  exchange ;  I  hear  that  there  is 
a  price  on  my  head  —  but,  mon  Dieu  !  where 
is  she?" 


IN  THE    WOODS  OF  ST.    CYR  2\\ 

His  face  was  haggard  and  his  dress  much  dis- 
ordered. It  was  evident  that  he  had  not  paused 
for  either  rest  or  food. 

"  She  is  at  St.  Cesaire,  I  trust,"  the  cobbler 
replied  calmly ;  "  she  and  Babet  got  away  from 
Pere  Ambroise's  house  last  night  and  started 
this  morning  in  disguise  for  St.  Cesaire." 

He  made  no  mention  of  his  share  in  the 
deliverance,  and  Francois  jumped  to  another 
conclusion. 

"  Faithful  Babet !  "  he  exclaimed  joyfully ; 
"  doubtless  she  planned  it  all.  I  will  follow 
them  at  once." 

"  You  must  meet  them  at  the  appointed  spot, 
not  elsewhere,"  said  the  cobbler.  "  I  was  to 
meet  them  between  the  bridge  and  the  cataract, 
at  the  spot  where  the  old  mulberry  stands.  Do 
you  recall  it?" 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  d'Aguesseau,  "  but  why 
there  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  to  hide  at  St.  Cesaire  until 
afternoon  ;  then,  if  there  is  no  pursuit  to  St.  Cyr, 
they  can  start  without  being  observed.  If  the 
chateau  is  too  closely  guarded,  they  will  wait 
until  night,"  he  added;  "but  it  will  not  be,  for 
16 


242  THE    COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

no  one  will  think  of  their  return  to  the  close 
vicinity  of  danger;  it  is  Nimes  that  will  be 
searched  for  them." 

"  But  why  can  I  not  go  straight  to  them  now?  " 
Francois  demanded  impatiently. 

The  cobbler  sighed.  "  Monsieur,"  he  said 
patiently,  "  every  house,  every  cottage  is 
watched,  and  if  you  are  recognized  — " 

He  broke  off  with  an  expressive  gesture. 

"  I  see,"  d'  Aguesseau  replied  ;  "  you  are  a 
wise  man,  Petit  Bossu.  Tell  me  about  Madame 
de  St.  Cyr." 

"  She  died  yesterday  in  the  jail  here,"  the 
hunchback  answered ;  "  the  shock  of  the  arrest 
and  mademoiselle's  danger  ended  her  life." 

D'Aguesseau  clenched  his  hand.  "  Mon 
Dieu ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  long  wilt  Thou 
afflict  us?  —  how  long?" 

"  It  was  best  so,"  the  cobbler  remarked  quietly. 
"  If  she  had  lived,  Mademoiselle  Rosaline  would 
have  sacrificed  herself  to  save  her.  She  believed 
that  you  and  her  grandmother  were  both  cap- 
tives ;  M.  de  Baudri  told  her  so,  and  promised 
to  save  your  lives  —  to  release  you  both  only 
on  the  condition  that  she  should  marry  him." 


IN  THE    WOODS  OF  ST.    CYR  243 

"  The  accursed  villain  !  "  broke  out  Frangois, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  sword :  "  may  I  be  spared 
to  chastise  him  !  " 

He  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  little  room  in 
suppressed  fury ;  all  the  fierce  impulses  of  a  bold 
and  daring  nature  were  aroused. 

"Dieu!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  tone,  "I 
cannot  go  to  England  for  Cavalier ;  I  must  stay 
and  fight  this  monster !  " 

"  Nay,"  remarked  le  Bossu,  gravely,  "  you 
must  save  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Cyr." 

Frangois  came  to  himself.  "  I  ought  not  to 
need  you  to  remind  me,"  he  said.  "  I  will  go 
at  once  to  the  appointed  place  and  wait ;  it  is 
not  long  now,  but,  in  the  meantime,  is  she 
safe?" 

"We  can  only  trust  in  Providence,"  replied 
the  cobbler,  "  since  to  approach  her  would  in- 
crease her  risks.  But  —  pardon  me,  monsieur 
—  if  you  stay  much  longer  in  Nimes,  you  will 
be  arrested." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied ;  "  I  thought  only  of 
her  when  I  came,  but  I  must  get  away  now  for 
her  sake.  Chariot,  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand;  "I  do  not  know  why  you 


244  THE   COBBLER   OF  NfMES 

should  do  so  much  for  us  who  are,  in  your  eyes, 
heretics  and  criminals." 

The  hunchback  smiled  as  he  returned  the 
pressure  of  d'Aguesseau's  hand. 

"  Life  is  a  mystery,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  new 
dignity  that  became  him  well,  "  and  so  is  death." 

He  went  with  Francois  down  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine  and  stood  at  the  gate  watching  him 
until  his  figure  disappeared  on  the  long  white 
road.  Later  le  Bossu  would  go  himself  to  keep 
the  appointment,  for  he  too  had  an  errand 
there ;  nor  could  he  rest  until  he  knew  that 
mademoiselle  was  safely  out  of  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Nimes.  But  there  was  time  yet,  and  he 
wanted  to  know  what  Pere  Ambroise  intended 
to  do,  and  where  M.  de  Baudri  would  next  cast 
his  net. 

Meanwhile,  out  at  St.  Ce*saire,  Babet  and 
Rosaline  were  safely  hidden  in  the  blacksmith's 
house.  It  was  a  little  cottage  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village,  and  from  the  rear  the  inmates 
could  easily  reach  the  woods  about  St.  Cyr. 
The  smith  had  been  a  faithful  though  humble 
friend  to  the  family  at  the  chateau,  and  like 
many  others,  he  was  a  concealed  Huguenot. 


IN  THE    WOODS  OF  ST.   CYR  245 

He  and  his  wife  therefore  gladly  ministered  to 
Rosaline's  comfort  and  set  a  simple  dinner  of 
pot-au-feu  before  their  two  guests.  Babet  and 
Truffe  did  ample  justice  to  the  meal,  but  Rosa- 
line could  not  eat,  in  spite  of  Babet's  remon- 
strances. The  young  girl  was  frantic  to  be  off, 
to  fly  to  her  lover,  that  they  might  seek  safety 
together ;  and  she  had  not  the  older  woman's 
prudence,  who  felt  that  another  dinner  might 
be  a  long  way  off,  and  who  did  not  believe  pro- 
foundly in  the  culinary  accomplishments  of  the 
Cevenols. 

The  hour  came  at  last,  and  bidding  her  faith- 
ful friends,  the  smith  and  his  wife,  adieu,  Rosa- 
line set  out  with  her  escort,  Babet  and  the  dog. 
Nothing  had  occurred  to  alarm  them  or  to  indi- 
cate that  their  hiding-place  was  suspected,  and 
the  blacksmith's  boy,  employed  for  scout  duties, 
brought  in  the  report  that  St.  Cyr  had  been 
deserted  since  the  previous  day,  when  Rosaline 
had  left  it.  The  two  women  entered  the  place, 
therefore,  with  lighter  hearts.  Babet  was  deter- 
mined to  enter  the  chateau,  if  possible,  to  secure 
Madame  de  St.  Cyr's  jewels  and  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  that  had  been  secreted  to  provide 


246  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

for  just  such  an  emergency;  for  they  had  for 
many  years  expected  to  be  denounced  as 
Huguenots.  Rosaline  was  to  remain  near  the 
hedge  that  surrounded  the  garden,  to  warn 
Babet  if  any  one  approached,  while  the  older 
and  stronger  woman  went  for  madame's  iron 
box.  Rosaline  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the 
attempt,  yet  neither  of  the  two  women  cared 
to  face  the  wilderness  without  money  to  pay  for 
either  shelter  or  food,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
open  the  secret  place  where  the  box  was  while 
the  dragoons  lurked  about  the  house. 

They  approached  the  chateau  with  great 
caution,  listening  and  watching,  but  no  one  ap- 
peared, not  a  leaf  stirred,  and  Rosaline's  doves 
were  cooing  in  the  sun. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  birds,"  she  said  sadly.  "  I  am 
glad  that  the  blacksmith's  good  wife  will  take 
them ;  otherwise  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were  leav- 
ing them  to  perish." 

Babet  did  not  pause  to  listen  to  these  senti- 
ments. Being  sure  that  no  one  was  about,  she 
entered  the  garden,  followed  by  Truffe,  who 
dashed  eagerly  along,  anxious  to  be  at  home 
again.  Still  there  were  no  sounds  or  signs  of 


IN  THE    WOODS  OF  ST.    CYR  247 

humanity,  and  advancing  with  a    firmer   step, 
Babet  entered  the  house  unmolested. 

Meanwhile  Rosaline,  left  alone  outside  of  the 
hedge,  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  shade  of  the  mul- 
berries, watching  the  place  and  beginning  to  feel 
easier  when  she  heard  no  sound,  for  she  knew 
that  Truffe's  bark  would  have  announced  the 
presence  of  strangers.  It  would  take  Babet 
some  little  time,  and  Rosaline  walked  further  on 
among  the  trees ;  this  might  be  the  last  time 
that  she  would  ever  approach  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  and  her  heart  was  very  sad. 
Thoughts  of  her  grandmother  thronged  into  her 
mind,  and  she  lived  over  again  the  agony  of 
yesterday.  Absorbed  in  her  painful  revery,  she 
forgot  her  surroundings,  and  unconsciously 
strayed  farther  into  the  wood.  Here  it  was 
thickest;  the  tree  trunks  clustered  closely  and 
the  shadows  lay  about  her;  beyond,  a  broad 
band  of  sunlight  fell  athwart  the  green  shade. 
The  moss  under  her  feet  was  thick  and  brown, 
and  already  the  leaves  were  falling. 

Suddenly  some  one  sprang  upon  her  from 
behind,  strong  fingers  clasping  her  throat  and 
choking  back  the  cries  that  rose  to  her  lips. 


248  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

She  resisted  with  all  her  might,  but  her  unseen 
foe  was  stronger  than  she,  and  forced  her  for- 
ward. In  vain  she  strove  to  call  for  help,  to 
evade  the  clutching  arms ;  then  her  foot  caught 
in  the  gnarled  root  of  a  mulberry  tree  and  she 
fell,  face  downward,  with  those  terrible  hands 
still  at  her  throat.  Then  the  shock  of  the  fall, 
the  horror  of  her  situation,  and  a  choking  sensa- 
tion overcame  her  and  she  lost  consciousness. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   OLD   WINDMILL 

WHEN  Rosaline  came  to  herself  it  was  with 
a  bewildered  recollection  of  some  horrible  event, 
and,  for  a  few  moments,  she  was  scarcely  con- 
scious of  her  surroundings.  Then  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  tried  to  move,  but  she  could  not. 
She  was  in  a  sitting  posture,  her  hands  and 
feet  tied,  and  a  rope,  slipped  under  her  arms, 
held  her  securely  against  a  wall  behind  her. 
The  discovery  of  her  situation  roused  all  her 
dormant  faculties,  and  she  looked  about  her, 
trying  to  find  out  where  she  was.  She  saw 
above  her  head  familiar  rafters,  and  then  she 
discovered  the  door  closed  opposite  her,  and 
recognized  the  old  windmill,  near  which  Fran- 
cois and  she  had  spent  those  hours  of  happi- 
ness, so  cruelly  interrupted.  The  light  in  the 
place  was  very  dim,  and  the  poor  girl  could  not 
at  first  see  plainly  in  all  the  corners.  She 
thought  herself  alone  and  wondered  where  her 


250  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

captor  was,  and  what  was  to  come  next.  Then 
the  hope  that  her  cries  might  bring  help  began 
to  rise  in  her  heart,  and  she  was  on  the  point 
of  screaming  aloud,  when  a  sound  struck  her 
ear  that  froze  her  blood  in  her  veins.  It 
was  a  laugh,  but  it  sounded  like  a  fiendish 
chuckle.  It  came  from  her  right  hand,  and  she 
turned  her  head  quickly  and  looked  into  the 
face  of  Mere  Tigrane.  An  exclamation  of 
horror  and  fear  burst  from  Rosaline's  heart, 
and  she  shrieked  for  help  —  help  !  —  and  the 
old  fishwife  laughed  and  rocked  to  and  fro. 
She  was  sitting  on  an  old  log,  in  the  dim  cor- 
ner, and  she  was  quite  undisturbed  by  her 
prisoner's  cries. 

"  Shriek  away,  mademoiselle !  "  she  said 
pleasantly.  "  Ciel !  what  a  voice  she  has  !  But 
no  one  will  hear  you  except  dear  old  Mere 
Tigrane." 

Rosaline's  heart  sank;  it  might  be  too  true, 
for  they  had  arranged  to  avoid  the  mill  because 
strangers  sometimes  strayed  there.  She  must 
have  been  carried  to  it,  in  this  fearful  woman's 
arms,  for  it  was  a  considerable  distance  from 
the  spot  where  she  had  fainted.  She  sank  back 


THE   OLD    WINDMILL  2$l 

against  the  wall  with  a  groan ;  she  knew  it  was 
useless  to  appeal  to  this  horrible  creature;  just 
such  wretched  women  made  a  living  by  inform- 
ing against  the  Huguenots,  and  there  was  no 
mercy  in  them.  Rosaline  did  not  know  what 
to  do;  it  was  useless  to  plead  with  Mere 
Tigrane,  and  it  seemed  useless,  too,  to  hope 
for  rescue;  moreover,  the  girl  had  conceived 
such  a  horror  of  the  old  witch,  such  a  scorn  of 
her  vileness,  that  she  could  not  endure  the 
sight  of  her.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  prayed 
silently,  but  she  made  no  sign  of  begging  for 
mercy.  Her  face  was  like  a  white  rose  in  the 
dim  light,  and  her  hair  lay  in  a  pale  aureole 
about  her  brow;  but,  with  all  her  agony,  she 
bore  herself  proudly. 

La  Louve  sat  on  her  log  and  watched,  gloat- 
ing over  her  and  running  her  red  tongue  along 
the  edge  of  her  lips. 

"Art  comfortable,  my  lady-bird?"  she  asked 
amiably.  "  What !  so  proud  that  you  will  not 
speak  to  poor  Mere  Tigrane?  And  what  do 
you  suppose  I  intend  to  do  with  such  a  fine 
lady,  eh?" 

Rosaline  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  her 


252  THE    COBBLER   OF  NIMES 

with  an  effort,  her  soul  rilled  with  loathing,  and 
the  old  hag  saw  it  in  her  face  and  hated  her 
for  it. 

"  God  knows  what  you  want  of  me,"  Rosaline 
said.  "  I  have  never  harmed  you,  and  I  cannot 
tell  why  you  so  misuse  me." 

"  You  never  harmed  me !  "  la  Louve  cried, 
throwing  up  her  bony  hands.  "Dame!  you 
are  a  peril  to  my  soul,  you  little  heretic !  " 

Rosaline  read  the  evil  look  in  the  hag's  eyes 
and  knew  that  she  would  never  relent;  and  so 
great  was  her  own  abhorrence  that  it  was  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  look  at  her  again.  (She 
turned  her  eyes  toward  the  door,  therefore,  and 
closed  her  lips;  she  had  no  hope  save  in 
heaven. 

"  How  would  mademoiselle  like  the  Tour  de 
Constance?"  Mere  Tigrane  inquired  pleasantly, 
"  T  is  a  healthful  place  and  full  of  her  friends. 
Dame  de  Dieu,  what  an  opportunity  to  travel 
without  pay  from  Nimes  to  Aiguemortes !  " 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  the  girl  eagerly, 
trying  to  discover  what  emotions  were  stirring 
in  the  heart  of  her  victim,  longing  for  tears  and 
entreaties ;  but  Rosaline  sat  like  a  statue. 


THE   OLD    WINDMILL  253 

"  Nom  de  St.  Denis  !  "  she  exclaimed  at  last, 
"  how  proud  mademoiselle  is,  —  an  aristocrat ! 
But  't  is  not  the  Tour  de  Constance,  ma  cherie" 
she  added,  with  a  mocking  laugh.  "  No,  no, 
there  must  be  a  better  fate  for  such  a  lovely 
prisoner.  Dame!  but  your  flesh  is  white  —  I 
could  eat  it.  How  much  does  mademoiselle 
think  that  M.  de  Baudri  would  pay  for  such 
a  prize?  " 

"  Dieu  ! "  cried  Rosaline,  shaken  out  of  her 
resolve,  "are  you  a  woman?  Is  it  possible 
that  the  bon  Dieu  put  such  a  heart  in  a 
woman  ?  " 

"A  woman,  my  pretty?"  retorted  the  hag, 
with  a  peal  of  wild  laughter.  "  Ay  —  and  once 
a  pretty  one  !  Now  you  see  what  I  am  —  and 
you  are  like  to  live  to  be  like  me,  unless  I  wring 
that  pretty,  white  throat  now !  I  am  a  woman, 
morbleu,  yes  —  this  is  what  a  woman  becomes  !  " 
and  she  crooked  her  talon  ringers  pointing  at 
herself.  "Do  you  think  I  will  pity  you? 
Dame,  I  would  see  you  burn  this  minute  with 
joy,  you  little  white  fool !  " 

Rosaline  nerved  herself  to  bear  it  without 
tears ;  she  struggled  hard  to  ward  off  the  faint- 


254  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

ness  that  stole  upon  her,  clasping  her  heart  in 
a  vice. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  me?"  she 
asked,  in  a  strange  voice,  her  eyes  chained 
now  by  a  horrible  fascination  to  the  old  hag's 
face. 

"  Sell  you,  my  sweetheart,"  Mere  Tigrane 
retorted,  showing  her  fangs,  "  to  the  highest 
bidder  in  Nimes.  Dame,  you  are  pretty  enough 
to  keep  poor  Mere  Tigrane's  pot  boiling  for  a 
year  or  two,  my  sweetie." 

"  God  will  not  let  you  do  it !  "  cried  Rosaline, 
with  white  lips ;  "  I  am  His." 

La  Louve  shrieked  with  laughter. 

"  You  heretic  !  "  she  said  gleefully,  "  you  are 
the  devil's  —  body  and  soul  —  my  fine  lady,  and 
you  will  wish  yourself  in  hell  presently,  I 
doubt  not,  ma  cherie  !  Next  time  you  drive 
Mere  Tigrane  away  with  her  fish,  I  think  you 
will  not  hold  that  little  head  so  high." 

"Mon  Dien  /"  cried  Rosaline,  in  amazement, 
"  is  it  possible  that  my  one  little  act  has  made 
you  hate  me  so  ?  " 

Mere  Tigrane  shook  her  head,  wagging  it 
slowly  from  side  to  side.  "No,"  she  replied, 


THE   OLD    WINDMILL  2$$ 

"  I  hate  you  for  living ;  I  hate  all  men  and  all 
women  and  all  children.  I  would  blast  them  if 
I  could ;  I  live  on  hatred  !  Mtre  de  Dieu  !  how 
I  love  to  see  a  heretic  burn !  " 

Rosaline  closed  her  eyes  with  a  shudder,  and 
la  Louve  sat  looking  at  her  thoughtfully,  with  a 
greedy  eye.  Dame !  but  she  would  make 
money  out  of  this  dainty  morsel.  She  had  an 
eye  for  beauty,  and  she  knew  its  market  value. 
She  was  even  content  to  let  her  victim  rest  a 
little,  while  she  turned  over  in  her  own  mind 
many  business  matters.  She  could  not  get  the 
girl  back  to  Nimes  before  night,  for  she  had  no 
intention  of  having  her  prize  snatched  from  her 
by  any  adventurer  upon  the  road.  She  was 
not  without  uneasiness  too,  for  M.  de  Baudri 
might  yet  come  to  St.  Cyr,  and,  if  he  did,  his 
search  would  be  thorough  and  she  was  likely 
to  lose  her  pay.  Yet  her  scheme  had  worked  so 
far  like  a  charm.  She  had  seen  Babet  and 
Rosaline  leave  Nimes ;  their  disguise  had  not 
deceived  her  ferret  eyes,  and  she  had  tracked 
them  to  St.  Ce"saire  and  from  St.  Ce"saire  to  the 
chateau,  for  she  possessed  the  patient  watchful- 
ness of  a  fiend.  Her  success  had  surpassed  her 


256  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

most  sanguine  hopes,  and  she  gloated  over  it 
with  savage  delight.  She  knew  that  she  was 
strong  enough  to  deal  with  Babet,  and  for  the 
present  she  looked  for  no  other  interference. 

The  silence  that  had  fallen  upon  the  little  mill 
was  almost  more  oppressive  to  Rosaline  than 
the  hag's  dreadful  talk ;  the  girl  felt  as  if  she 
could  not  endure  it  longer,  her  heart  throbbed 
heavily,  there  was  a  choking  sensation  in  her 
throat  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  draw 
another  breath.  And  then  she  struggled  in 
her  bonds  and  shrieked  aloud,  for  she  heard 
Truffe's  short  bark.  Her  scream  was  answered 
just  as  Mere  Tigrane  sprang  upon  her  and  thrust 
a  rag  into  her  mouth  as  a  gag.  The  fish- 
wife was  furious,  though  she  expected  no  one 
but  Babet. 

"Dame!"  she  ejaculated,  drawing  a  knife 
from  her  bosom,  "  I  '11  make  short  work  of  the 
woman  and  the  cur !  " 

The  mill  door  had  stood  open  too  long  on 
rusty  hinges  to  be  easily  secured,  and  she  had 
only  been  able  to  lay  an  old  timber  across  it. 
She  took  her  position  therefore,  ready  to  strike, 
just  as  the  door  was  shaken  from  without  and 


THE   OLD    WINDMILL  2$? 

pushed  heavily  inward.  It  resisted  the  first 
attempt,  and  she  burst  out  into  shrill  laughter ; 
but  a  second  push  sent  the  timber  rolling  back 
a  foot,  and  the  third  opened  the  door  wide 
enough  to  admit —  not  Babet,  but  the  cobbler. 

Mere  Tigrane,  taken  by  surprise,  withheld  her 
knife,  but  when  Babet  followed  him  she  struck  a 
vicious  blow  at  le  Bossu. 

"Diable!"  she  shrieked.  "Petit  Bossu! 
take  yourself  off —  this  is  my  game !  " 

Chariot  quietly  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast 
and  drew  out  a  pistol,  levelling  it  at  the  hag's 
head. 

"  If  you  move  one  finger,"  he  said  grimly, 
"  you  are  dead.  Babet,  take  her  knife  and  loose 
mademoiselle." 

But  Babet  would  not  touch  her.  She  made  a 
wide  circle  to  avoid  any  contact,  and  drawing  a 
knife  from  her  own  wallet,  began  to  cut  the 
bands  about  Rosaline's  feet  and  hands,  all  the 
while  pouring  out  a  torrent  of  sympathy  and 
self-reproach.  Why  had  she  left  her  lamb  to 
fall  among  wolves? 

Rosaline  was  too  faint  for  any  words  except 
a  murmur  of  thanksgiving,  and  the  air  was  filled 
17 


258  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

with  Mere  Tigrane's  oaths  as  she  writhed  help- 
less before  le  Bossu's  pistol.  He  was  watching 
Babet. 

"  Do  not  cut  the  long  rope,"  he  said  grimly ; 
"  untie  it  —  we  have  need  of  it." 

At  this,  la  Louve  began  to  howl,  rocking  to 
and  fro. 

"  You  villain !  "  she  whined,  "  you  dare  not 
hang  me!  M.  de  Baudri  is  coming;  you  will 
be  punished  — "  She  went  on  with  a  stream 
of  oaths. 

Le  Bossu  stopped  her.  "  Another  word,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  '11  shoot  you.  You  will  not  be 
hung,  though  you  deserve  it.  Babet,  stuff 
those  dirty  rags  in  her  mouth,  we  have  heard 
enough."  k 

Babet  obeyed  this  time,  first  relieving  the  hag 
of  her  knife  and  binding  her  hands. 

"  There  's  some  dinner  for  you  to  chew,  my 
beauty,"  Babet  said  pleasantly,  and  proceeded 
to  tie  her  feet. 

"Now  the  rope,"  ordered  the  cobbler;  "  slip 
it  twice  around  her  waist  —  that  is  it;  draw 
her  back  to  the  post  and  tie  it  securely." 

He  helped  Babet  in  this,  putting  the  pistol 


THE   OLD    WINDMILL  259 

back  into  his  bosom.  Mere  Tigrane  was  black 
in  the  face  with  rage,  but  she  could  offer  no 
resistance;  only,  her  terrible  eyes  leered  at 
them  —  red  as  blood. 

Rosaline  had  gone  out  and  was  leaning 
against  a  tree,  her  face  colorless  and  her  hands 
clasped.  When  the  others  joined  her,  she 
turned  and  threw  her  arms  about  Babet  and 
burst  into  tears,  too  overcome  to  speak.  The 
woman  tried  to  comfort  and  soothe  her. 

"'Twas  Truffe  who  found  you,"  she  said, 
"  bless  the  creature  !  The  cobbler  and  I  would 
have  been  searching  still,  but  suddenly  she  put 
her  nose  to  the  ground  and  came  straight  as 
an  arrow !  " 

Le  Bossu  was  not  listening  to  them ;  he  had 
walked  a  few  yards  into  the  wood  and  knelt 
down,  bending  his  head  close  to  the  ground. 
When  he  arose  his  face  was  white  and  he 
moved  quickly  toward  them. 

"  Have  courage,  mademoiselle,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  but  let  us  begone,  there  are  horsemen 
in  the  road  by  St.  Cyr;  the  dragoons  have 
returned." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  COBBLER'S  BARGAIN 

THE  two  women  and  le  Bossu  had  followed 
the  course  of  the  stream,  walking  rapidly  along 
the  bank,  and  now  they  descended  the  rocky 
path  by  the  cataract.  They  were  travelling 
west  and  the  afternoon  sun  shone  full  in  their 
faces;  the  wind  was  blowing  too,  —  a  chill 
November  wind  that  swept  the  leaves  from  the 
chestnut  trees  and  dropped  the  empty  burrs. 
They  had  not  wasted  breath  in  words,  and  now 
le  Bossu  left  them  and  ran  forward,  looking 
under  the  lowest  branches ;  then  he  whistled 
softly.  There  was  a  response,  and  Babet  and 
Rosaline  stopped  in  alarm ;  they  expected  no 
one.  The  next  moment,  however,  a  tall  figure 
came  rapidly  towards  them  and  Rosaline  recog- 
nized her  lover.  She  gave  a  little  sob  of  joy 
and  ran  to  meet  him,  the  dog  bounding  beside 
her.  They  met  a  few  yards  in  front  of  the 
others  and  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  support- 


THE   COBBLER'S  BARGAIN  26 1 

ing  her  trembling  form.  Le  Bossu  looked  but 
once;  in  their  joy  they  had  forgotten  him,  He 
turned  his  back  and  approached  Babet,  putting 
a  small  but  heavy  bag  in  her  hands. 

"  That  is  mademoiselle's,"  he  said  calmly ; 
"guard  it  well.  And  now — go  on  in  God's 
name !  Do  not  let  them  tarry,  for  Death  is 
behind  them." 

Babet  had  learned  to  value  the  poor  little 
hunchback,  but  she  was  sober  and  undemon- 
strative. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  bluntly. 

He  pointed  to  the  woods.  "  Back,"  he  said, 
"  to  keep  them  from  finding  Mere  Tigrane  who 
would  set  them  on  your  track.  I  will  delay 
them  all  I  can." 

"  It  is  well,"  Babet  remarked,  "  you  are  a 
good  man,  Chariot ;  the  bon  Dieu  will  bless  you. 
I  suppose  you  do  not  want  the  blessing  of  a 
heretic?  " 

He  smiled.  "  Do  not  tarry,"  he  said,  warn- 
ingly.  "Keep  straight  to  the  west;  M. 
d'Aguesseau  will  guide  you.  Adieu  ! " 

He  looked  once  more  toward  the  lovers,  but 
they  were  still  absorbed  in  each  other.  The 


262  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

cobbler  turned  sadly  away,  and  climbing  the 
steep  path  was  lost  to  sight  among  the  trees 
before  Rosaline  knew  that  he  had  gone ;  and 
he  never  heard  her  thanks,  never  knew  her 
remorse  because  she  had,  for  the  moment,  for- 
gotten him  in  her  own  joy.  There  was  no 
time  for  her  to  redeem  her  error;  there  was 
only  time  to  flee  on  and  on,  with  a  terrible 
danger  pursuing  them  and  lurking  for  them  at 
every  step. 

Meanwhile  le  Bossu  went  back  through  the 
woods.  His  heart  was  full,  but  he  was  not 
without  a  feeling  of  joy.  So  far  she  was  safe, 
and  he  had  just  given  Babet  all  his  savings. 
His  years  of  patient  labor  had  not  been  in  vain 
if  his  money  could  help  Rosaline  now.  He 
would  have  liked  to  speak  to  her,  to  touch 
her  hand;  but  what  was  he?  Le  Bossu,  le 
savetier,  the  beggarly  cripple  of  St.  Antoine  ! 
It  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  serve 
her.  Dieu  /  would  his  wretched  lameness  keep 
him  from  reaching  the  windmill  before  the 
dragoons?  He  walked  fast,  urging  his  energies 
to  the  utmost,  but  the  way  seemed  long  indeed. 
A  picture  of  her  in  her  lover's  arms,  with  the 


THE  COBBLER'S  BARGAIN  263 

sunshine  on  her  hair,  rose  before  his  eyes  and 
he  set  his  teeth.  What  was  it  to  him  ?  He  was 
only  a  hunchbacked  cobbler,  he  could  scarcely 
be  made  of  the  same  clay  that  they  were,  yet 
his  starved  soul  cried  out.  Now  and  then  he 
stooped  down  and  listened,  but  the  place  was 
silent  save  for  the  rustling  of  the  wind  amid  the 
dead  leaves ;  winter  was  coming. 

At  last,  the  mill !  He  did  not  pause  after 
assuring  himself  that  la  Louve  was  still  secure ; 
he  fastened  the  door  as  tightly  as  he  could  and 
sped  on  toward  the  chateau.  Fortune  smiled 
upon  him ;  he  was  just  in  time.  Not  twenty 
yards  away  he  came  upon  M.  de  Baudri  and 
a  couple  of  dragoons.  The  hunchback  was 
halted  by  a  sharp  challenge,  but  the  soldiers 
looked  indifferent  when  they  recognized  him. 
Their  commander  was  in  a  black  temper,  and 
he  ordered  the  cobbler  to  approach. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Petit  Bossu  ? " 
he  demanded  fiercely.  "  Out  with  all  you 
know,  or  — "  He  drew  his  hand  expressively 
across  his  throat. 

Chariot  assumed  an  attitude  of  profound 
respect,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 


264  THE    COBBLER    OF  NJMES 

"  I  am  monsieur's  humblest  servant,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  been  over  yonder  to  sell  my  shoes  in 
St.  Ce"saire,  and  I  came  here  to  look  about  — 
monsieur  understands,  the  place  is  open,  the 
house  of  heretics ;  the  poor  cobbler  thought  to 
find  some  trifle  left  by  the  soldiers." 

"  It  would  be  a  devilish  small  thing  if  they 
left  it !  "  retorted  M.  de  Baudri,  with  a  grim 
smile.  "Look,  you  little  beast,  no  trifling  — 
these  heretics  have  escaped.  Have  you  seen 
them?" 

The  cobbler  assumed  an  air  of  importance. 

"  My  life  is  valuable  to  me,  monsieur,"  he 
said,  "  and  if  I  tell,  the  Camisards  may  kill  me,  as 
they  kill  the  cur6s ;  nevertheless,  for  the  sake  of 
my  soul  —  Monsieur,  will  the  Intendant  pay?" 

"Diable!"  shouted  de  Baudri;  "pay!  I 
can  pay  if  I  choose,  but  I  '11  shoot  you  if  you 
trifle." 

"  I  will  guide  you,  monsieur,"  the  cobbler 
replied,  with  a  stubborn  air,  "  but  I  will  have 
pay  for  the  risk,  —  a  hundred  crowns." 

De  Baudri  burst  out  with  a  volley  of  oaths, 
but  he  flung  some  money  at  the  hunchback. 

"There   is   some,    beast,"    he  said   coarsely ; 


THE   COBBLER'S  BARGAIN  26$ 

"  and  you  shall  have  the  rest  if  you  find  the 
girl,  —  Rosaline  de  St.  Cyr." 

The  cobbler  gathered  up  the  money  and 
counted  it  with  greedy  fingers,  M.  de  Baudri 
watching  him  with  scornful  eyes. 

"You  promise  the  rest,  monsieur?"  le  Bossu 
persisted,  with  a  shrewd  look. 

"  Dame  !  "  retorted  the  other ;  "  you  '11  get  it 
and  hell  too,  if  you  don't  make  haste.  Where 
are  these  women  ?  " 

The  hunchback  drew  closer  to  him,  lowering 
his  voice  and  speaking  with  his  hand  before  his 
mouth. 

"  You  shall  have  them  all,  monsieur,"  he  said, 
"  the  girl,  the  old  woman,  M.  d'Aguesseau,  and 
the  dog !  " 

"  Bien  !  "  exclaimed  de  Baudri  cheerfully ; 
"  you  shall  have  your  hundred  crowns.  Viens 
done,  show  me  the  way !  " 

The  hunchback  pointed  toward  the  north. 

"  Up  yonder,"  he  said,  "  behind  those  rocks 
on  the  hill,  there  is  a  grotto  —  I  know  it  by 
accident;  there  they  have  hidden  since  morn- 
ing. The  way  is  long  and  rocky;  monsieur 
must  follow  me." 


266  THE   COBBLER   OF  NJMES 

"  Will  they  not  see  us  approaching  in  time  to 
fly?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Le  Bossu  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"  Nay,"  he  replied  quietly,  "  we  must  go  as  if 
we  intended  to  take  the  St.  Hippolyte  road ; 
then,  when  we  approach  the  spot  we  can  sur- 
round them.  The  country  is  open  and  bare 
below  the  cave,  though  it  lies  in  a  little  wood. 
They  could  not  escape  us." 

"  Go  on,  then,"  said  de  Baudri,  impatiently ; 
"  to  the  cave  or  au  diable  !  I  tell  thee  plainly, 
though,  that  deceit  will  cost  thee  thy  life." 

"  So  be  it,  monsieur,"  rejoined  the  hunch- 
back, calmly;  "and  the  bon  Dieu  judge  between 
me  and  thee,"  he  added  to  himself. 

A  few  sharp  orders  were  given,  the  bugle  was 
sounded,  and  the  troopers  gathered  in  the  road, 
each  man  at  his  horse's  head.  M.  de  Baudri 
came  out  of  the  garden  and  leaped  into  the 
saddle;  then  his  eyes  lighted  on  the  cobbler 
standing  quietly  in  the  road. 

"  Here,"  he  said  sharply,  "  Petit  Bossu  must 
be  mounted ;  bring  up  a  horse." 

"  I  cannot  ride,"  said  the  cobbler,  meekly ;  "  my 
back  and  my  hips,  monsieur,  will  not  permit  it." 


THE   COBBLER'S  BARGAIN  267 

"  Mille  tonnerres  f  "  ejaculated  the  officer,  with 
a  black  frown,  "you  mean  to  walk?  We  shall 
not  be  there  for  an  hour !  " 

"  I  can  walk  fast,  at  times,  monsieur,"  replied 
Chariot ;  "  I  will  do  my  best.  If  you  had  but  a 
cart  " 

M.  de  Baudri  cursed  him  and  his  deformity. 

"  A  cart !  "  he  said  mockingly ;  "  a  litter  !  Do 
you  suppose  that  dragoons  drive  out  in  car- 
riages; such  vermin  should  not  cumber  the 
earth.  If  we  miss  them,  Mere  de  Dieu,  I  '11  hang 
you  !  " 

"We  cannot  miss  them,  monsieur,"  rejoined 
the  cobbler,  patiently ;  "  they  dare  not  leave  their 
lurking  place  in  daylight,  and  it  is  yet  an  hour 
to  sunset." 

" Dame  de  Dieu,  let  us  be  off!  "  exclaimed 
de  Baudr.  and  gave  the  order  to  mount. 

The  long  line  of  dragoons  swung  into  their 
saddles  and  the  little  cavalcade  moved  slowly  off, 
with  le  Bossu  in  advance. 

The  sun  was  sinking  over  the  valley  of  the 
Vaunage,  and  its  rays  shone  on  the  towers  and 
spires  of  Nimes  and  sparkled  on  the  polished 
steel  of  the  soldiers'  accoutrements.  The  hills 


268  THE  COBBLER   OF  NlMES 

were  purple  against  the  November  sky,  and 
clouds  drifted  overhead.  Autumn  had  stripped 
the  landscape  of  much  of  its  beauty,  and  the 
arid  plains  about  them  showed  but  little  verdure 
save  a  low  growth  of  juniper  bushes.  It  was 
not  a  spot  to  afford  many  places  of  conceal- 
ment, and  as  the  little  troop  advanced,  M.  de 
Baudri's  keen  eyes  swept  the  scene  with  the 
savage  glance  of  a  vulture  seeking  its  prey. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"O  DEATH,  WHERE  IS  THY  STING?" 

AN  hour  later  the  dusty  little  cavalcade  filed 
slowly  up  a  steep  and  rocky  hill  and  drew  rein 
beside  a  strip  of  woodland  on  the  summit.  On 
every  side  the  country  rolled  away,  barren  and 
broken  with  crags ;  here  and  there  a  low  growth 
of  juniper  bushes  or  a  solitary  fig  tree,  where 
the  soil  was  more  fertile.  The  dragoons  dis- 
mounted at  M.  de  Baudri's  command  and  sur- 
rounded the  spot.  It  would  be  impossible  for 
any  one  to  escape  down  that  bare  hillside  un- 
seen. De  Baudri's  eyes  burned  fiercely;  he 
thought  his  prey  within  his  grasp.  Le  Bossu 
was  lame  from  the  long  and  weary  walk,  and  his 
drawn  face  was  white,  but  his  expression  was 
full  of  content. 

"  A  whole  hour,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Please 
God  she  is  out  of  reach !  " 

He  obeyed  a  motion  of  M.  de  Baudri's  hand 
and  led  the  way  into  the  wood.  It  was  not 


2/O  THE   COBBLER  OF  NtMES 

thick  and  there  was  but  little  underbrush,  for 
even  here  the  ground  was  rocky  and  unchari- 
table. He  looked  about  as  he  walked,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  remember  even  little  things  now; 
almost  all  the  trees  were  chestnuts,  these  and 
mulberries  growing  best  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Nimes.  He  noticed  the  moss  and  the  lichens, 
and  here  and  there  a  wild  vine  trailed  across  the 
way.  The  wind  blew  keenly  now  from  the 
north,  and  overhead  the  gray  clouds  hung  low, 
but  the  west  was  glorious,  the  sun  hanging  just 
above  the  horizon.  The  hunchback  noted  all 
these  things,  and  he  heard  the  heavy  tread  of 
the  men  behind  him,  the  rattle  of  M.  de  Baudri's 
sword.  He  walked  on ;  a  great  peace  was  filling 
his  soul,  his  pulses  throbbed  evenly,  he  lifted  his 
head  ;  his  life  was,  after  all,  worth  much,  —  it  was 
to  pay  her  ransom.  He  came  to  the  centre  of 
the  wood  and  sat  down  on  a  large  rock ;  before 
him  the  trees  parted  and  he  could  look  straight 
toward  the  west,  the  whole  landscape  at  his  feet. 
He  drew  M.  de  Baudri's  money  from  his  wallet 
and  cast  it  on  the  ground. 

A  suspicion  had  been  dawning  upon  de  Bau- 
dri  since  they  had  dismounted,  and  he  halted 


"O  DEATH,    WHERE  IS   THY  STING?"    2JI 

now  and  stared  fiercely  from  the  cobbler  to  the 
despised  coins,  the  price  of  blood. 

"  Sang  de  Dieu  /  "  he  thundered,  "  where  is 
the  grotto,  slave  ?  " 

Le  Bossu  turned  on  him  a  calm  face. 

"  There  is  none,  monsieur,"  he  replied  simply. 

De  Baudri  broke  out  with  a  terrible  oath, 
drawing  his  sword. 

"  You  lying,  humped  toad !  "  he  said,  "  how 
dared  you  do  this?" 

He  made  a  move  as  if  to  strike  him  dead,  and 
then  a  sudden  thought  checked  him. 

"  Bah  !  "  he  ejaculated,  "  soil  my  sword  with 
the  blood  of  such  vermin  ?  I  am  a  fool.  Where 
is  the  girl?"  he  added  fiercely.  "  Pardieu,  I 
will  wring  your  neck  !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  where  she  is,"  replied  le 
Bossu,  truthfully  enough,  for  he  did  not  know 
where  they  were  then. 

"And  you  led  us  here  to  cheat  us,  slave?" 
said  de  Baudri.  "  A  fine  scheme  —  as  you  will 
learn  to  your  cost.  If  I  thought  you  knew 
where  she  was,  I  'd  torture  it  out  of  you  with 
hot  irons." 

The  cobbler  did  not  look  at  him ;  his  brown 


272  THE   COBBLER   OF  N$MES 

eyes  dwelt  on  the  distance,  and  his  soul  was 
uplifted  by  the  approaching  joy  of  self-sacrifice. 
He  did  not  hear  the  abuse  that  M.  de  Baudri 
continued  to  pour  upon  him ;  his  life  was  pass- 
ing before  his  eyes,  his  wretched,  abused  child- 
hood, his  sharp  mortification  over  his  physical 
infirmity,  his  silent,  intense  longing  for  friend- 
ship and  love,  his  despised  solitude,  his  hard, 
thankless  labor ;  and  now  it  was  over,  and  not 
in  vain  !  "  Mother  of  God,"  he  prayed,  "  comfort 
the  wretched."  He  awoke  to  hear  M.  de  Baudri 
ordering  his  soldiers  to  bring  a  rope. 

A  dragoon  went  for  a  piece  that  was  coiled 
on  the  back  of  one  of  the  horses.  The  troopers 
never  hunted  heretics  without  rope.  He  re- 
turned promptly,  and  approaching  le  Bossu  was 
slipping  the  noose  over  his  head,  but  another 
scheme  had  occurred  to  the  leader.  • 

"  Hang  him  by  the  feet,"  he  said  coolly, 
pointing  with  his  white  hand  to  a  tree.  "  Sacre- 
bleu  !  't  will  hurt  more  so." 

They  secured  the  rope  about  the  hunchback's 
feet  while  their  victim  watched  them  with  calm 
eyes. 

"  What  matter,"  he  thought,  "  if  I  have  saved 


"O  DEATH,    WHERE  IS   THY  STING?"    2/3 

her?      May   the  bon  Dieu   make   my  sacrifice 
complete !  " 

De  Baudri  watched  him  coolly,  wondering 
that  the  rapt  face  was  so  calm. 

"  When  I  give  the  order,"  he  said  to  the 
soldiers,  "  haul  him  up  and  let  him  hang  twenty 
minutes.  Now,  rogue,  where  is  the  girl  ?  " 

No  answer;  the  clear  eyes  looked  straight 
toward  the  setting  sun,  over  the  beautiful  valley 
of  the  Vaunage.  The  radiance  of  the  west  fell 
on  his  face,  as  though  he  looked  through  those 
golden  gates  into  Paradise. 

"  Nom  de  St.  Denis !  "  ejaculated  de  Baudri, 
"  what  a  stubborn  fool.  Now,  my  men  !  " 

He  raised  his  hand  carelessly  and  the  cripple 
was  drawn  up  by  the  feet  to  the  limb  of  a  tree, 
his  head  hanging  with  the  face  to  the  west 
Ten  minutes  passed  —  twenty. 

"  Fire  !  "  said  M.  de  Baudri. 

There  was  the  crash  of  a  volley,  the  blue 
smoke  rose,  the  poor,  misshapen  body  swung 
around  in  the  red  sunlight,  and  there  was 
silence,  —  broken  at  last  by  the  trample  of 
horses  as  the  troopers  mounted  and  rode  down 
the  hill. 

18 


2/4  THE   COBBLER   OF  N?MES 

The  sun  set  in  a  sea  of  gold ;  the  gray  clouds 
above  turned  the  color  of  a  red  rose ;  a  haze 
floated  over  Nimes.  In  the  wood,  only  the 
dead  leaves  rustled  as  they  fell.  In  the  upper 
room  of  the  shop  of  Two  Shoes,  the  candle 
before  the  shrine  had  burned  down  to  the  very 
end.  It  flickered  and  flared  up,  a  single  flame 
in  the  gloom,  and  then  it  went  out  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   SHIP  AT   SEA 

Two  weeks  later  a  party  of  wayfarers  came 
to  the  old  mill  at  St.  Cyr.  The  door  was 
fastened,  but  they  opened  it,  only  to  recoil  with 
horror.  They  found  a  hideous  old  woman  tied 
there.  She  had  been  dead  a  long  while  and 
the  fearful  distortion  of  her  face  sent  them 
shrieking  from  the  spot.  Even  in  death  Mere 
Tigrane  had  not  lost  her  power  to  strike  terror 
to  the  hearts  of  others. 

Not  long  afterwards  a  ship  was  crossing  the 
channel  to  Dover,  on  a  calm  sea  with  a  blue 
sky  overhead.  The  white  foam  gathered  in  its 
wake  and  the  sun  glistened  on  its  full-set  sails 
and  on  the  flag  bearing  the  crosses  of  St. 
George  and  St.  Andrew.  On  the  deck  stood 
Rosaline  and  her  lover,- — her  husband  now, 
for  they  had  been  wedded  in  the  Cevennes,  — 
and  near  them  sat  Babet  contentedly  feeding 


2/6  THE   COBBLER  OF  NfMES 

Truffe  with  a  cake.  Rosaline  leaned  on  the 
rail,  looking  back  toward  France. 

"  Dear  native  land,"  she  sighed  softly,  "  I 
may  never  see  you  more ;  yet  I  am  con- 
tent. Ah,  Francois,  we  ought  to  be  thankful 
indeed.  I  am  glad  that  Cavalier  sent  you  to 
England;  I  can  bear  no  more,  and  it  may 
be  we  can  move  these  strangers  to  help  the 
cause." 

"I  pray  so,"  he  replied  gently;  "England's 
queen  is  favorable  to  us.  At  least,  you  will  be 
safe ;  I  could  not  take  my  wife  to  those  rugged 
hiding-places  in  the  Ce"vennes,  with  winter  so 
near.  Ah,  my  love,  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

She  looked  up  with  tender  eyes.  "  I  am 
content,  my  husband,"  she  answered  softly. 
"  I  bless  the  bon  Dieu,  but  my  heart  is  sore  at 
the  thought  of  poor  Chariot.  Can  it  be  that 
the  blacksmith's  boy  was  mistaken?  Could 
they  really  hang  him  for  not  betraying  us  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so,"  replied  d'Aguesseau  sadly ; 
"  the  report  came  straight  enough.  Let  us 
remember,  though,  that  it  ended  his  suffer- 
ings; he  told  me  that  his  life  was  full  of 
pain." 


THE  SHIP  A  T  SEA  2?/ 

Rosaline  looked  back  over  the  blue  sea  with 
tearful  eyes. 

"  Poor  little  Chariot,"  she  murmured  gently. 
"  The  hunchbacked  cobbler  with  the  soul  of  a 
hero  and  a  martyr.  His  memory  shall  be 
sacred  to  me  forever." 


THE  END 


The  Cardinal's  Musketeer 

AN   HISTORICAL  ROMANCE 

MARY  IMLAY  TAYLOR 

I2mo,  $1.25. 

The  hereof  "The  Cardinal's  Musketeer"  is  a  knightly 
youth,  brave  and  generous,  and  a  devoted  lover.  The  plots 
of  the  King's  mother,  Marie  de  Me"dicis,  and  the  counter- 
plots of  the  patriotic  Cardinal  give  rise  to  forceful  action 
and  dramatic  situations;  yet  no  attempt  is  made  to  cram 
the  reader's  mind  with  the  facts  and  dates  of  French  history. 
*  *  *  Our  hearty  sympathy  is  engaged  from  the  first  on. 
behalf  of  Pe"ron,  the  Cardinal's  Musketeer,  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  in  his  childhood,  and  on  behalf  of  the  haughty 
little  demoiselle  Ren6e,  who  ultimately  becomes  his  wife. 
The  story  is  full  of  life  and  love.  Lengthy  descriptions 
and  sermonizings  are  conspicuously  absent;  the  characters 
speak  for  themselves,  act  their  parts,  and  manifest  all  that 
is  in  them  by  their  words  and  deeds. 

"The  story  is  full  of  life,  love,  and  exquisite,  not  to  say  dramatic,  incidents." 
—Boston  Times. 

"There  is  love  enough  to  warm  and  color  the  adventure,  but  not  to  cloy  the 
taste;  there  is  dramatic  contrast  of  character  and  situation,  swiftness  of  move- 
ment, and  an  easy,  confident  flow  of  style  that  combine  to  make  a  delightful  tale 
— one  that  the  reader  will  lay  down  with  a  regret  that  there  is  not  more  of  it." — 
Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  The  story  is  a  strong,  well-studied  reproduction  of  the  times  of  Cardinal 
Richelieu.  *  *  *  It  is  a  stirring  romance,  overflowing  with  life  and  action." 
—The  Indianapolis  News. 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  MISS  TAYLOR 

ON  THE  RED  STAIRCASE,  I2mo,  $1.25. 

"  A  most  vivid  and  absorbing  tale  of  love  and  adventure." — The  Church- 
man, New  York. 

AN  IMPERIAL  LOVER,  I2mo,  $1.25. 

"Skillfully  constructed,  well  written,  and  thoroughly  interesting." — Spec- 
tator, London. 

A  YANKEE  VOLUNTEER,  i2mo,  $1.25. 

"A  story  fraught  with  such  exquisite  beauty  as  is  seldom  associated  with 
history."— Boston  Times. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WIZARD,  i2mo,  $1.25. 

"A  strong,  well-studied,  and  striking  reproduction  of  the  social  and  political 
conditions  of  the  age  of  King  Henry  VIII.  *  *  *  Overflowing  with  life  and 
action." — Chicago  Chronicle. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers, 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO., 
CHICAGO. 


The  DREAD  AND  FEAR 
OF  KINGS 

By  J.  BRECKENRIDGE  ELLIS 

12mo    .     .     $1.25 


READERS  will  find  in  this  historical  romance  a  work  of 
thrilling  interest.  The  period  is  the  beginning  of  the 
Christian  era,  and  the  scenes  are  laid  in  Rome,  the  island  of 
Capri  and  other  parts  of  Italy.  The  Emperor,  Tiberius,  had 
retired  to  Capri,  and  from  his  mysterious  seclusion  sent 
forth  decrees  which  kept  the  Imperial  City  in  a  continual 
state  of  terror.  A  single  word  uttered  in  disrespect  of  the 
Emperor  or  his  favorite,  Sejanus,  might  mean  death  and 
confiscation  of  property.  No  man  in  Rome  felt  the  least 
security  that  his  life  might  not  in  a  moment  be  sworn  away 
by  some  slave  or  base  informer. 

IT  is  this  reign  of  terror  in  Rome  that  forms  the  back- 
ground to  the  striking  picture  of  ancient  life  that  Mr. 
Ellis  has  produced.  The  story  is  one  of  love  and  adventure, 
in  which  types  of  the  diverse  nationalities  that  then  thronged 
the  Imperial  City  are  revealed  in  characters  —  some  of  them 
historical  personages  —  of  marked  individuality.  The  inter- 
est of  the  love  story,  the  stirring  incidents  and  the  spirited 
dialogue,  enchain  the  attention  of  the  reader. 


For  sale  by  booksellers  generally,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price, 
by  the  publishers. 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  Publishers 
CHICAGO 


THE   STORY   OF   TONTY. 

AN    HISTORICAL    ROMANCE, 

By  Mrs.  MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD. 
I2mo,  224  pages.    Price,  $1.25. 


"  The  Story  of  Tonty  "  is  eminently  a  Western  story,  beginning 
at  Montreal,  tarrying  at  Fort  Frontenac,  and  ending  at  the  old  fort 
at  Starved  Rock,  on  the  Illinois  River.  It  weaves  the  adventures 
of  the  two  great  explorers,  the  intrepid  La  Salle  and  his  faithful 
lieutenant,  Tonty,  into  a  tale  as  thrilling  and  romantic  as  the  de- 
scriptive portions  are  brilliant  and  vivid.  It  is  superbly  illustrated 
with  twenty-three  masterly  drawings  by  Mr.  Enoch  Ward. 

Such  tales  as  this  render  service  past  expression  to  the  cause  of  his- 
tory. They  weave  a  spell  in  which  old  chronicles  are  vivified  and  breathe 
out  human  life  Mrs.  Catherwood,  in  thus  bringing  out  from  the  treasure- 
houses  of  half-forgotten  historical  record  things  new  and  old,  has  set  her- 
self one  of  the  worthiest  literary  tasks  of  her  generation,  and  is  showing 
herself  finely  adequate  to  its  fulfilment.  —  Transcript,  Boston, 

A  powerful  story  by  a  writer  newly  sprung  to  fame.  •  .  .  All  the 
century  we  have  been  waiting  for  the  deft  hand  that  could  put  flesh  upon 
the  dry  bones  of  our  early  heroes.  Here  is  a  recreation  indeed.  .  .  .  One 
comes  from  the  reading  of  the  romance  with  a  quickened  interest  in  our 
early  national  history,  and  a  profound  admiration  for  the  art  that  can  so 
transport  us  to  the  dreamful  realms  where  fancy  is  monarch  of  fact.  — 
Press,  Philadelphia. 

"The  Story  of  Tonty"  is  full  of  the  atmosphere  of  its  time.  It 
betrays  an  intimate  and  sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  great  age  of  ex- 
plorers, and  it  is  altogether  a  charming  piece  of  work.  —  Christian 
Union,  New  York. 

Original  in  treatment,  in  subject,  and  in  all  the  details  of  mist  en 
scene,  it  must  stand  unique  among  recent  romances.  —  News,  Chicago. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 


A     000  035  961     2 


